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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443068">The Boy Who Lived and Knew It Too</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardsandthrones/pseuds/wizardsandthrones'>wizardsandthrones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Betrayal, Bisexual Harry Potter, Dark!Harry, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Forgiveness, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter was Adopted by Other(s), Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Mysterious Harry Potter, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Romance, Secret Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:34:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>72,032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardsandthrones/pseuds/wizardsandthrones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Voldemort killed Lily and James Potter, he also killed the rest of Harry's relatives. Dumbledore had no choice but to raise the boy himself. Harry Potter grew up in fame, as the Boy Who Lived and knew it too. </p><p>Everyone loved him, and Harry came to Hogwarts as a charming, mysterious, and reserved celebrity. His fame only increased when year after year Harry and his two best friends, Hermione and Ron, defeated all attempts of the Dark Lord's return. </p><p>After the war, Harry continued to work his celebrity status to pass new legislation, reform conservative laws, and give sentences to Death Eaters. Hermione quickly rose in the ranks of the Ministry, and Ron had his hands full with a new baby. </p><p>However, everything changes when Harry sees none other than Draco Malfoy at a charity event, now a renowned potion brewer and collector, although his practice is shrouded in mystery. Harry tries to avoid Draco, but when Hermione and Ron mysteriously grow fond of Draco, Harry must learn to forgive and forget or explain himself. </p><p>The only problem is, Harry and Draco have some unfinished business from their time at Hogwarts--and that's the most mysterious thing of all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. September 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You better ask her out, Harry.”</p><p>Ron shakes his head, exasperated, when Harry looks up distractedly from his Potion’s textbook—his new obsession— that balances on his knees, then smiles that small, helpless smile, as if to tell Ron, <em> but what can </em> I <em> do? </em></p><p>“I never thought you would encourage someone to date your sister,” Harry points out, predictably unhelpful. </p><p>Ron sighs, and leans forward, glancing around the common room to make sure neither Hermione nor Ginny herself were anywhere they could hear him. “But you’re seeing each other, right? Why can’t you just date her?”</p><p>Harry rolls his eyes, pressing his lips together in a line, a flash of rebellion in his eyes. He does this occasionally, a movement of discomfort or annoyance, before smiling and shrugging it off. Ron never really understood this small moment of unguarded emotion. Is it how Harry really feels about the whole conversation? Or just a passing feeling? </p><p>“Ginny doesn’t want to date me,” Harry says, carefully closing his book, as if sensing the interruption is leading to a longer conversation. “Trust me.”</p><p>“Hermione tells me—”</p><p>“Hermione’s a romantic,” Harry interjects, his green eyes sparkling, as if he knows something about Hermione that Ron does not; this is probably true, as Ron has always been hyper aware of the closeness between Harry and Hermione that Ron has failed to achieve. </p><p>“You and Ginny would make a great couple,” Ron protests. </p><p>“Ron,” Harry says gently, though his smile has a sharp edge to it. “Do you really think I’d be good for Ginny? Or do you just not trust anyone else with her?”</p><p>“Well,” Ron starts, but can’t finish, though he doesn’t have a good refutation anyway, as Hermione and Ginny walk into the common room arm in arm. Harry smiles sympathetically at Ron before rising and hugging Hermione, then kissing Ginny on the cheek and whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh. </p><p>Ron just doesn’t understand him sometimes. Though Ron is Harry’s best friend, some days it feels like they are absolute strangers. Harry mutters an excuse about getting sleep and slips away quietly, up to the dorms. Ron looks after him until the door of the stairwell closes behind Harry’s unruly brown hair.</p><p>“He’s obsessed with that Potion’s book,” Hermione comments, a worried crease between her brows. She looks at Ron searchingly, probably wondering how “The Ginny Talk” went down, as she has been calling it of late. Ron shakes his head. <em> Not good. </em> Hermione sighs, though not without a certain fondness that always accompanies any criticism of Harry. He’s just being Harry, after all. </p><p>“I better get some sleep too,” Ginny says after a moment, then heads to the girl’s dormitories with a quiet good night. </p><p>Hermione and Ron stand next to each other in an awkward silence. These silences have only grown since Lavender Brown keeps following Ron around. He doesn’t understand why, although naturally Harry always smirks at him when Ron brings it up. Harry has always been more perceptive than Ron, especially when it comes to other people. Sometimes cruelly perceptive, dissecting a person’s motivation or insecurity with a few witty remarks and that razor sharp smile. </p><p>“So,” Hermione begins, glancing at Ron hesitantly. She rarely does anything hesitantly, but Ron has noticed her hesitating a lot around him recently. “Harry said no?”</p><p>Glad to have a solid conversation topic, Ron rambles a rough summary of Harry’s thoughts on dating Ginny, concluding with, “In other words, he said no.”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Hermione says, shaking her head and sighing, a combination of gestures that is commonly performed in reaction to anything Harry Potter, “I want to strangle him.”</p><p>As they rarely agree on anything, Ron smiles, pleased that he can say, “Me too, Hermione, me too.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Harry tosses in bed. He can’t really sleep, though this isn’t a rare occurrence. Sleep has never come easily to Harry. Probably a product of his parent’s death before he could say their names, and perhaps an evil sorcerer dead set on killing him doesn’t help either. </p><p>He hears Ron sink into bed, the springs creaking. A few minutes later and snores erupt in the silence. Harry smiles briefly to himself, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaving the dormitory, his bare feet padding softly on the warm wood. </p><p>No one is in the common room, thankfully. Harry hates answering uncomfortable questions. He easily exits through the Fat Lady, throwing her a flirty wink to keep silent. She fans her face and blushes, but doesn’t say a word. </p><p>Harry continues down the dark hallway, turning and taking two flights of stairs, jumping the last three steps when the staircase begins to move. He supposes he could have brought his Invisibility Cloak, but then again, what could anyone say if he got caught?</p><p>After making his way past the closed double doors to the Dining Hall, he finds narrow stone steps going down into darkness. He follows them swiftly, and light sconces flicker to a glow as he passes by them along the basement corridor. Only when he reaches a bright painting of a variety of fruits and breads does he stop. He reaches out and tickles the pear. </p><p>The painting swings inward, revealing a dark tunnel. He ducks inside and meanders below the castle until he finds the kitchens, a room with a low ceiling and a large, hot furnace, low counter tops that take up the middle of the room, and shelves along the wall packed with sacks of flour and sugar and salt, jars of different jams and preservatives, and encased behind glass that must be enchanted cold a variety of salted meats and fish. </p><p>Harry walks in and a House Elf appears on the counter with a pop. It’s Lucy, a small Elf with large eyes and wrinkly skin. She’s old but still spritely. Harry has known her all his life. Indeed, in many ways, she raised him. </p><p>Lucy wags her finger at him. “Back again, Harry dear?”</p><p>“Well, I missed you, of course.” But she knows that’s not really why he keeps coming back here night after night. Regardless, she appreciates his attempt at charming her. </p><p>She takes his large hands in her small ones, and looks up at him sadly. “Another Sleeping Draught?”</p><p>Harry looks away with a frown. “Yes.” </p><p>Lucy hurries away, jumping off the counter top and disappearing into a pantry. She comes back with a handful of different glass jars filled with crushed herbs, and one container filled with a sticky fluid that Harry guesses is Flobberworm Mucus. He would feel more disgusted if he didn’t need the Sleeping Draught so desperately, and more to the point, if he hadn’t been taking it regularly for so many years. </p><p>A small cauldron is whisked onto a hook that protrudes over the furnace. Lucy drops in a sprinkle of what smells like lavender, stirring clockwise. Harry hoists himself up onto the edge of the counter. </p><p>“You’re having nightmares again,” Lucy says. It’s not a question. </p><p>Harry runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends to prevent himself from crying out in frustration. “Yes,” he says reluctantly, his voice clipped. </p><p>“Have you told Albus?” she asks, though Harry’s sure she already knows the answer. </p><p>“No,” Harry says, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them so as to not seem childish. </p><p>“You should tell him, Harry,” Lucy says seriously, but gently. </p><p>“Lucy, I can’t.” </p><p>“He’s your father,” Lucy begins, but stops and shakes her head, knowing her argument is futile. They have had this discussion many times before.</p><p>Harry grits his teeth, then after a long breath, says calmly, “He’s not my father.”</p><p>Lucy just sighs and continues brewing. She knows Harry’s stubbornness well, and won’t push it anymore. After a few minutes in silence, she stops stirring, and procures a small glass vial from her pocket. She uses a ladle to pour the dark violet liquid into the vial, then stoppering it before handing it to Harry, who takes it with a grateful smile. </p><p>“See you tomorrow, my dear,” Lucy says, patting his arm. </p><p>Harry doesn’t drink it until he’s under the covers, and from one blink to the next, he falls into a deep sleep. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“He slept through Defense Against the Dark Arts<em> again </em>,” Hermione whispers to Ron furiously, glancing at the back door nervously. Draco can’t tell if she’s worried Professor Slughorn will come in before Harry, or that Harry will miss potions. </p><p>Draco would take either, for some drama to the boring routine of Hogwarts. He hasn’t always thought Hogwarts boring. But this year, everything feels pale in the face of the dangers lurking all around in darkness. No one knows about them except Draco, of course, and it’s his burden to bear. Alone. But sometimes he wishes...</p><p>The doors swing open, rattling on the frame. Harry rushes in, disheveled, and sits down at an empty seat near the back, only a few seats down from Draco. Hermione and Ron sigh, shake their heads, but Draco sees them smile at him, their eyes all fond. Draco just doesn’t understand it. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees Harry smile at them apologetically, before his expression flattens out and his mouth straightens into a line. A look of extreme boredom and indifference, a look Draco knows well only because he always has it on. </p><p>Draco doesn’t know why Harry feels any boredom, what with being the Chosen One. And if he knew everything in store for him...well, Draco guesses Harry would wish for his boredom back. But maybe not. Draco doesn’t know him that well, clearly.</p><p>He used to want friendship with Harry, or at least some type of alliance. His father urged it early on, even before going to Hogwarts. The only problem being that ever since Harry’s parents died at the hands of the Dark Lord, he’s been under the care and protection of Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the world. </p><p>And Dumbledore doesn’t like the Malfoys too much, so Draco could never get close to Harry, much less even introduce himself. Only when they made it to Hogwarts, out of the watchful eye of the Headmaster, did Draco attempt a friendship. </p><p>When Draco saw the flash of recognition in Harry’s eyes, he knew the rejection would come. And when that Weasley boy told Draco off, he also saw the flicker of surprise and respect that briefly made itself known on Harry’s face—too fast for anyone less shrewd than Draco—and he looked at Ron as if he were someone totally different, before schooling his features into a slight disdain towards Draco. </p><p>So it was set. The Boy Who Lived would befriend the Weasley boy and later on the muggle-born Granger, for whatever random reason. Interestingly, Draco was not the only one who found this strange. Many other students considered these two misfits not good enough to accompany the Chosen One wherever he went. But it was Harry Potter, a well liked and powerful wizard, brought up under the Headmaster and most dangerous wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore, and therefore everyone accepted what he did without hesitation, and Weasley and Granger received only the highest praise and attention. </p><p>Draco, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well as he had hoped. He thought his power and status as Pureblood would bring a flock of followers. Instead, his opposition to the charming, well-known Boy Who Lived would bring him more hate than fear. He was left with a few loyal followers in Slytherin, but other than that, he was unpopular and shunned. </p><p>Of course, he still made sure people did not get in his way, as all good Malfoys do.</p><p>Some nights, Draco wonders what life at Hogwarts would have been like for him, if Harry Potter had died as a baby, or if he had grown up somewhere else. He once overheard his parents angrily discussing the adoption of Harry Potter by Dumbledore. His mother had observed that if only the Dark Lord had not killed Harry’s remaining muggle relatives, maybe he would be an easier target now. </p><p>Draco couldn’t imagine a world where Harry Potter grew up in the muggle world, never knowing he was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, come to save us all from the return of He Who Must Not Be Named. </p><p>But some nights Draco does dream, and for a moment he glimpses this other world, and he wonders which one he would really prefer. What would Harry be like if he was the Boy Who Lived and never knew it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. September 2005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Harry, can you hold her?” Ron asks, panting, his red hair sticking to his forehead, little baby Rose in one arm and his wand in another, spelling the large pot of soup to stir and the frying pan to toss the vegetables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nods, coming over with a frown, and picks up Rose, carefully cradling her in his arms. After another moment of making sure Harry is holding her correctly, Ron wipes the sweat away from his forehead and moves around the kitchen freely, preparing dinner with his usual chaotic attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s very small,” Harry observes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve had one if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you and Ginny—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks up at Ron with a tense look that silences him. “Ginny and I broke up, Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but you could always get back together. Mum will forgive you, I’m sure,” Ron suggests, although he knows it’s useless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have had this conversation many times since Harry and Ginny announced that they were going to break up, with Harry taking the flat in central London for himself, and Ginny spontaneously traveling the world with her best friend, Luna Lovegood. Mrs. Weasley had been heartbroken, Hermione distraught, the whole wizarding world in tears, but Ron had just been confused and reluctantly resigned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not getting back together,” Harry says firmly, an edge to his voice that suggests he knows something that Ron doesn’t, as he usually does. “The war changed us both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The war changed everyone,” Ron replies sharply, then sighs. “I’m sorry, mate. It’s your life, I understand. Just want you to be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks at Ron, then back down at Rose. “Do you think I’ll ever have kids?” He asks it not despairingly, or worryingly, just with a bland curiosity. He could have been asking Ron if he thinks it will rain later tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron looks into the soup that slowly stirs on the stove with an invisible spoon, as if the depths of the dark liquid might contain the answer. “I don’t know,” Ron says finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nods absently. He’s probably not even listening anymore. But that’s not unusual. Harry has always been reserved with a cool indifference. The only time Ron has seen Harry ignite with a powerful, almost terrifying intensity was the day Harry walked to his death, a day he’d rather never go through again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still at the Ministry. Should be home any minute,” Ron says, and the tenseness of their conversation passes to the familiar easiness of their long friendship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does she miss Rose?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron tenses, though he knows Harry doesn’t hold any judgement like the rest of the public. Hermione’s campaign struggles to persuade everyone that the baby will not explode and die without her mother there constantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but Hermione’ll be fine,” Ron says, trying not to sound defensive. Harry probably wouldn’t understand anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione is always fine.” He says it like a fact, with no warmth but no jealousy either, a strange tone that Harry employs occasionally and which instantly builds an impenetrable wall between him and Ron, a barrier of that cool indifference he’s had for as long as Ron has known him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, dinner’s done,” Ron says, waving his wand to stop the stirring and frying. He spells the plates to float and settle on the table, with forks and knives and spoons right behind them. After the glasses settle and the napkins bloom on top of the plates, Ron holds his arms out for Rose. Harry seems rather grateful to hand off the baby, though that might be Ron’s imagination. You never know with Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should get going,” Harry says, his expression shuttered, already walking to get his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not staying for dinner?” Ron asks, surprised. He had just assumed Harry’d be staying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry gives him a small smile. “Unfortunately I have a charity event I need to attend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another one? But you just went to one yesterday night. And today is Friday, surely they’ll give you a break?” Ron doesn’t know why he’s trying to convince Harry to stay. Perhaps it’s better if Harry leaves, giving Ron some alone time with Hermione and the baby. Ever since the break up, Hermione has been more worried about Harry, and it causes tension at the dinner table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, mate. Another time,” Harry says without further explanation. He rarely gives further explanation, and Ron’s used to accepting his choices without hearing the reason. Ron has come to the conclusion that perhaps he’s better off not knowing the reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you later then.” Ron pats Rose on the back when she starts to cry, kissing her cheek. Harry looks at the two of them with an unreadable expression, before turning his back and heading towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say hello to Hermione for me,” Harry says, before Disapparating with a loud crack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry adjusts his tie in the large mirror next to his bed. His dark suit fits his slim figure nice enough, but Harry supposes it needs a little tailoring. Usually his House Elf Lucy would arrange that, but she died in the war, and Harry can’t muster up the energy or care to call a tailor himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny used to do all that for him, before they broke up. She gave up trying to convince him to care. You can’t convince someone to care. Soon she simply stopped caring too, and they decided they couldn’t be together. It was as simple as that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More or less. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry walks out of the bedroom, satisfied. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of whiskey. Charity events can be quite boring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last look around the quiet apartment, he Disapparates. He opens his eyes and looks at the large manor suddenly in front of him, which used to belong to a Pureblood family that was mostly killed in the war, the rest in Azkaban. Their estate had been converted to a museum in memoriam to the Second Wizarding World War and those that have fallen. Recently, the Ministry has been using its large ballroom for charity events and the like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Potter, welcome,” says the valet stationed at the large iron gates with a nod. Harry barely glances at him, flashing him a large golden coin embossed with the Ministry symbol. The token is reserved for the highest of Ministry officials. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry continues up the stone path amidst a freshly planted garden, although a few streaks of dark magic can still be seen, hidden under large stones. The scars of the war will never truly heal. Harry straightens his tie before entering the manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many notable wizards and witches from all over the world that have come to attend the event flock towards him with gracious smiles, thanking him as if he personally helped their families, and introducing him to more notable people as he’s pulled across the ballroom floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minister of India, a woman with dark hair and golden brown eyes, tries to discuss the recent law she passed that will set up orphanages in India for children whose parents died in the war. She wants to know what Harry thinks about it, having been an orphan himself after the First Wizarding World War. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will anyone want to adopt the child of Death Eaters?” Harry asks with a smile. The Minister’s previous eager smile falters, but before she can come up with a reply, Harry sees someone entering the ballroom and after a quick apology, leaves the Minister completely puzzled but still somewhat dazzled, like watching a dangerous bomb explode into a magnificent firework you can't tear your eyes away from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco,” Harry says, too quiet for anyone else to hear except him. Draco’s wearing a grey suit, the same color as his eyes. He turns when Harry says his name and grimaces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry,” Draco says, pulling himself up straight. Harry has always noticed this about Draco, even during their days at Hogwarts. Despite the hatred thrown his way, Draco always manages to look prideful and formidable, like he dares anyone to challenge his authority. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, keeping his voice neutral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve come for the charity event,” Draco says, barely hiding a smirk when Harry frowns, knowing how annoyed Harry is with his response. “But I don’t need to ask what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Harry can respond, Kingsley Shacklebolt approaches, dressed in purple robes sparkling with gold threaded design. He nods towards Draco, then to Harry, a joyous smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, Minister,” Draco says politely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to you, Mr. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt replies. Harry watches the exchange with a careful eye, but making sure not to look too interested. “I’m glad you could attend. I know you are very busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Draco says with a slight inclination of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shacklebolt turns towards Harry. “You know Draco from school, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry and Draco share an uncomfortable look, before Harry washes it away with a smile. Shacklebolt appears not to notice anything. “Yes. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.” A few years, in fact, since his trial and release. Draco looks at the ground with a frown, as if remembering that day when Harry had argued for a lesser sentence. From time to time Harry wonders if Draco feels gratitude or resentment towards Harry's apparent magnanimity.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m sure you know all about his potions shop,” Shacklebolt continues. Harry does know about it, though not for lack of trying not to. He hates reading about Draco in the news, or from anyone else. He hates hearing anything about Draco, really, and he hates seeing Draco here, in the midst of Harry’s domain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potions?” Harry echoes, and he sees the flash of hurt on Draco’s face before he smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing, really,” Draco says, unable to disguise the sharpness in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shacklebolt laughs, and claps Draco on the back. “Nonsense. You’re just being modest. He’s the most famous potioneer in Europe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raises an eyebrow, not for the praise which he already knows about, but rather for the genial way Shacklebolt interacts with Draco. Not Ministry official with former Death Eater, but more like business partners, perhaps even friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should get going. The speeches will begin soon,” Shacklebolt says, rubbing his hands together. He looks at Harry. “And you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks at Draco one last time, before following after Shacklebolt. A familiar stir in his chest makes him pause and look behind him. Draco leans against a pillar at the edges of the crowd, silent and brooding as he always has been, and he’s staring right at Harry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks away, exhaling hard like he’s held his breath since the moment he laid eyes on Draco. In that moment, Harry knows, he can feel it like words spoken in his mind, like a spell cast right at his chest, like a kiss full of promises and betrayals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things were going to change. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. September 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Predictably, Harry needs another Sleeping Draught. The nightmares that plague his sleep with visions and warnings and threats yank him out of bed with his shirt clinging to his sweaty skin. He makes little noise as he makes the long trip to the kitchens, where Lucy will surely come to check on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets reflex guide him past the hallways, and almost cries out when he runs into something solid but yielding. The other person grunts but does not say a thing. Harry suspects they don’t want to get caught. Interesting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lumos</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harry whispers quickly. The soft glow from his wand illuminates the face of none other than Draco Malfoy, whose eyes widen in surprise when he recognizes Harry, his face paling even more in the light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter,” Draco sneers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy,” Harry says coolly. He doesn’t take his eyes off Draco. “You shouldn’t wander the castle at night. Someone will think you’re up to something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flicker of confusion passes across Draco’s face, before he narrows his eyes. “I could say the same about you, Potter,” Draco says harshly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry replies calmly, with a smirk, “you couldn’t.” And they both know it’s true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulls himself up straight, crossing his arms, understanding that he’s in a weaker position. “I couldn’t sleep.” Then after a pause, adds, “I was hoping a walk would help me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry hides the surprise that he feels. “Nightmares?” It sounds more like a challenge than a question. Draco purses his lips, but jerks his head in a nod. “Me too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Draco asks with unmasked shock. Then with narrowed eyes, “What part? The sleep or the nightmares?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both,” Harry says honestly. He’s never told anyone except Lucy, and wonders why he’s telling Malfoy of all people. Maybe because Draco has no one to tell, and even if he did, no one would believe him. Draco stares at him like he’s sprouted Hippogriff wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.” Draco immediately looks at Harry with suspicion. “Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says simply. “I’m telling you because I’m on my way to get a Sleeping Draught in the kitchens right now.” He raises an eyebrow in question, and a small smile that asks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>will you come along?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re suggesting I... what?” Draco asks, at a loss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me,” Harry says, then Draco laughs. It’s a normal laugh, sprung from genuine surprise and slight exasperation. “If you prefer that I threaten you, I can do that as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Draco says finally, looking stunned, like he can’t believe he’s agreed but at this point has no other choice. “Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry dims the Lumos as they continue on to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds strange to hear two pairs of feet treading quietly in the near dark hallways of the castle. Harry wonders for a second time why he’s bringing Malfoy down to the kitchens with him. If Malfoy decides to tell Snape, Harry could get a pretty severe punishment. However, if Malfoy tells Snape, he’ll have to admit he was out of the dormitories as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Harry just wants something different in his nighttime routine. He glances back at Malfoy, and wryly thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well this is definitely different. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry has never gotten along with Malfoy, although he never really tried to. During the first few years of Hogwarts, Mafloy was annoying, to say the least, and always stirring up some plot to humiliate Harry. But it never worked. Harry’s fame and charm always swayed everyone, and Malfoy was left on the sidelines, no matter how hard he tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Harry almost pities Malfoy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they grew up, Malfoy kept his distance, and seems to have resigned himself to a life outshined by Harry’s presence. But Harry suspects that instead of meddling in the Chosen One’s affairs, Malfoy has used his isolation to plot something else. He just doesn’t know what. Yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here,” Harry says, emerging from the tunnel and into the vast expanse of the kitchen. Draco makes a noise at the sea of marble countertop and the crackling furnace that glows like the nostrils of a dragon. His eyes scan all the shelves of food in awe, the reflection of the fire in his pupils like twin flames leaping in darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the Draught?” Draco asks, a little breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smirks, then snaps his finger. Lucy appears on the counter top, staring in shock at Draco, then back at Harry. She knows very well who Malfoy is, and his accompaniment of Harry is incomprehensible for a variety of reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after a moment, Lucy smiles, and Harry relaxes just a little. Any wrong word can tip their momentary alliance into war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Harry, do you need another Draught?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Harry glances at Draco to gauge his reaction, but he just stares at Lucy, bewildered. “Two vials, please.” Lucy nods and goes off to the pantry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You come here often,” Draco observes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Harry does not explain further. Instead, he watches as Draco looks around the room, then at Harry with half-lidded eyes, as if hiding his apparent curiosity. Draco looks alive and vibrant, in a sense, his mouth twitching with unspoken words and his hands almost trembling at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to grab his wand or not. In class, he always looks pale and deadened, curled in his seat and a limp hand on a quill, like a painting drained of its color. The contrast is startling, and Harry has to look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know,” Draco says, as if in conclusion, but doesn’t elaborate on </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>, exactly, he didn’t know. The kitchen? The House Elf? Harry’s sleepless, nightmare riddled nights? Any of them would make sense, so in that way, it doesn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucy works at my home, too,” Harry adds, another thing he’s never told anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me,” Lucy says, exiting the pantry with double the amount of ingredients, this time held in a woven basket. She sets up a cauldron over the furnace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Draco watches her expertly concoct the potion. He looks at Harry like he might understand more if he memorized his face. Harry turns away, leaning against the counter top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve known Harry since he was just a boy, you know,” Lucy says with a fond smile, which Harry returns, although Draco swears there’s a tenseness around Harry’s mouth. Draco wants to ask more questions, but if there’s one thing he’s noticed, it’s that Harry does not like answering questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My family has a House Elf,” Draco says, then frowns. “Well, had one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dobby,” Harry says, and before Draco can sputter an accusing question, “I freed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco decides not to ask any more questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done, boys,” Lucy says, eyeing Draco attentively. She fishes two vials out of her pockets, though Draco didn’t know Elves had pockets, and pours the steaming liquid in and when they are stoppered, hands them to Harry pointedly. Harry hands one to Draco, who takes it gingerly. The thick liquid is violet and smooth, exactly how Draco remembers it to be from class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” Lucy says with a bow, then Draco blinks and she’s gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She raised you?” Draco asks, unable to hold back. Harry cuts him a sharp glance, then stares at the vial, turning it over slowly in his fingers. They are long, thin fingers, with square nails. Pretty hands, Mrs. Malfoy would say. Draco shakes the thought away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why were you out of the dormitories, so late at night?” Harry asks, completely ignoring Draco’s question. He turns to look at Draco, and his face is smoothed out in mild curiosity. His eyes, however, blaze with the heat of a furnace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already told you,” Draco says sharply. “I couldn’t sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles slowly, but it’s dark and sly. For a moment, Draco wonders why Harry was put into Gryffindor at all. “I’m sure that’s true. But again, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Draco says. Is this a trap? Did Harry plan to interrogate him after pretending to come in peace, offering a Sleeping Draught as an olive branch?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you wouldn’t.” Harry starts to leave past Draco to the tunnel, but Draco’s hand shoots out and grabs his upper arm, and Harry goes still, his eyes trained on the ground, his mouth a tense line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone thinks you’re perfect,” Draco says in a low voice, his grip tightening when Harry tries to shake him off, “but I see through that. I see your soul, Potter, and it’s as black as mine. You’d have been better off in Slytherin.” He meant it as an insult, but Harry looks up at him in surprise, not at all enraged like Draco had hoped. Instead, he looks rather interested, his whole body humming in attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks at Draco for a moment longer, searching his face. “Goodnight, Malfoy,” Harry says, before yanking his arm out of Draco’s hand and disappearing back through the tunnel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hermione says firmly. “Absolutely not, Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raises an eyebrow calmly. “No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron shares a concerned glance with Hermione, before looking at Harry again. He’s lounging back on the couch, fiddling with that Potion’s book again. Hermione narrows her eyes at the worn copy of their textbook, but says nothing. She doesn’t want to admit her annoyance at Harry scoring better marks in Potions than her, even though Ron is sure he knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry, you have no evidence to prove it,” Hermione says, almost sadly, as if Harry has gone hopelessly mad. Maybe he has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove what?” Ginny saunters up to them, her school bag slung over one shoulder. Harry scoots his legs up and Ginny sits down at the opposite end of the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Harry says, and it sounds honest. His smile terrifies Ron. Ginny raises a flirty eyebrow at Harry, and as if he’s suddenly come alive, he purposefully grabs the front of Ginny’s robes and pulls her in for a slow, deep kiss. Hermione and Ron look away, blushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” Hermione says tersely, still looking at the floor, “Harry is under the impression that Malfoy is a Death Eater.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny pulls away from the kiss. She looks at Harry with an intrigued half smile. “Malfoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says sternly, still looking at Ginny with unbridled intensity. After a moment of silence, Ginny looks away, frowning. Ron does not try to guess the meaning of this odd exchange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think that?” Ginny asks, though the vagueness of her tone suggests she doesn’t really care to know the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just know,” Harry says with such confidence Ron finds himself half-believing him already. Hermione shakes her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not enough,” Hermione says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just drop the Malfoy thing, mate,” Ron says, rubbing at his eyes like he’s exhausted from the conversation more than the fact it’s past curfew and they’re waking up in less than seven hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shrugs. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Hermione asks, astonished. She looks to Ron, then Ginny, then back to Harry, who just smiles at her, and it would be perfectly innocent if his eyes didn’t gleam as his lids lowered ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to bed,” Harry says. He takes Ginny’s hand and kisses the knuckles, then walks to the staircase that leads to the boy’s dormitories. Ginny watches him go with an almost blank look, like she’s not really seeing Harry at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should too,” Ginny says after a moment, leaving Ron alone with Hermione.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strange, isn’t it?” Hermione looks at the couch, deep in thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, very strange,” Ron agrees. He looks at Hermione, hesitating, unsure of what to say. Hermione shifts in her seat. Ron opens his mouth to speak when Hermione stands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s late,” she says quietly, then she follows after Ginny. Ron drops his head in his hands.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. September 2005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!” A short reporter with tufts of blonde hair scurries over to him, a newspaper in one hand and a large camera in the other. He briefly reminds Harry of Colin Creevey before he gets closer and Harry can spot the differences, the main being that Colin will never reach the old age of the reporter. Harry doesn’t slow down when the reporter walks beside him, trying to keep up with his large strides.</p><p>“Mr. Potter, do you think the Ministry is being too harsh on You Know Whose followers?” he asks in a high pitched voice, out of breath from Harry’s quick pace across the Atrium floor. He shoves the front page of the newspaper in front of Harry. At the top of the page reads in bold: PURE-BLOOD LEGACY PLUNDERED BY AUROR RAIDS. </p><p>Harry walks faster, and over his shoulder tells the report lagging behind, “Voldemort killed my parents. It’s not harsh, it’s justice.” He turns and continues walking, leaving the reporter panting by the fountain, where statues lounging around the water gleam gold in spelled sunlight. </p><p>He enters into a lift that’s just closing, smiling at an elderly lady with a hat that nests a family of bluebirds. She smiles at Harry, but her eyes are sad. Harry’s used to seeing it after the war. Everyone has lost something, after all. </p><p>“Level four, please,” she says in a gravely voice. Harry nods, pressing the level four button as well as level two. The lift shoots sideways, and the bluebirds fly into the sky crying out, before settling down again, clinging fearfully to their nest. After a moment, the lift drops swiftly, and Harry’s stomach drops with it, never quite used to the terrifying speed of the Ministry lifts. </p><p>The doors swing open on level four. </p><p>“Good day, Mr. Potter,” she says, tipping her head, the bluebirds twittering softly. The doors shudder closed, and without warning, the lift drops again. Harry smooths his suit down, thankful to exit the lift when it stops, and makes his way across the grand, polished hallway to the Auror offices. </p><p>An occasional Auror will pass by, tipping their hat or waving in his direction. Harry acknowledges them all with a small smile.</p><p>He reaches the door to Hermione’s office, knocks, and then comes inside. </p><p>“Hermione,” he starts, then stops when he sees Shacklebolt and Malfoy in an intense discussion with Hermione, surrounding her desk which is covered in what look like detailed floor plans. All of them look up at Harry, and only Hermione looks unsurprised. </p><p>“Oh Harry, good,” she says. “I’d love to hear what you think.”</p><p>Harry avoids Malfoy’s carefully blank expression, instead exchanging greetings with Shacklebolt and hugging Hermione as he makes his way to her side of the desk.</p><p>“What are these?” Harry asks, brushing his fingertips over the maps, the paper thin and almost translucent. Must be very old, and very valuable.</p><p>Shacklebolt answers. “Floor plans of manors belonging to Death Eaters.”</p><p>“For raids?” Harry asks. </p><p>“Manors are typically held within a family for centuries,” Malfoy says quietly, and Harry, startled at the familiar voice in such a setting, looks up at him. Their eyes lock, before Malfoy glances away with a slight frown. “Many of them will have traps, usually dark spells, to stop intruders.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, but why are you here, exactly?” Harry asks with a forced smile. Malfoy flushes. Even Shacklebolt looks at Harry reproachingly. Harry stands his ground, staring at Malfoy as if he might will him to speak or leave. Malfoy says nothing, looking resolutely at the floor plans. </p><p>“Harry,” Hermione admonishes. “You don’t have to be rude.”</p><p>“We need to know the layout of the manors before we raid,” Shacklebolt says in his deep, soothing voice, clearly trying to pacify the situation. He looks keenly between Harry and Malfoy. “Malfoy understands the nature of these manors, having grown up in one and having regularly visited many others.”</p><p>“Malfoy can speak for himself,” Harry says softly. Malfoy looks up at Harry, betrayed, like Harry had slapped him. He turns swiftly on his heel, leaving the room. </p><p>“Harry—” Hermione begins, but cuts off when Harry goes after Malfoy, slamming the door behind him. </p><p>“Don’t follow me,” Draco growls over his shoulder, a few paces ahead of Harry, the small heels on his dress shoes clicking softly on the marble floor. But Harry continues anyway, steadily gaining on him, ignoring other wizards and witches that try to greet him. </p><p>“Draco, stop.” Harry sees Draco flinch when Harry says his first name, but he stops and turns around reluctantly, arms straight and tense by his sides. </p><p>“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asks, sounding tired and pinched. He looks well, though, his pale skin smooth and his hair combed, falling just below his angular cheekbones. The white dress shirt only pronounces the angry blush blooming across his face.</p><p>“You used to call me Harry.” It’s just an observation, but Draco’s eyes flash.</p><p>“Don’t,” Draco warns. “Don’t say things like that.”</p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>“Stop,” Draco says, his voice trembling. </p><p>Harry takes a step closer, but Draco doesn’t back down. He looks at Harry with troubled grey eyes. “You don’t trust me anymore.” </p><p>“And you never trusted me,” Draco snaps. </p><p>“I had good reason not to, if you recall,” Harry points out. </p><p>“That’s not the point, and you know it.”</p><p>“I wanted to talk with you,” Harry says calmly, looking around to make sure they aren’t attracting attention. Draco laughs derisively.</p><p>“Even now you worry about what other people think of you,” Draco says, and he sounds vindictive and sad all at once. Harry can’t decide if he wants to punch him or hold his hand. Instead, he looks away, taking a step back, his heart beating violently in his chest. </p><p>“Nothing you can do now will make me forgive you,” Harry says in a low, even voice. He looks at Draco, and it’s like they’re in Sixth Year again, his grey eyes wavering and his mouth twisted and his hands clenched at his sides. Harry wonders how he could ever think all those memories were buried with the past. “So please, don’t try.” </p><p>Then Harry walks past Draco, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from shaking. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>The glow of the lighter wavers in the dark. Harry watches it, wondering what it would be like to have only known this flame, this light, and not the blue glow of a <em> lumos </em>late at night. The end of the cigarette catches, and he flicks the lighter off, putting it away. He’s left in darkness. </p><p>The grass is damp under his jeans. Inhale, exhale. He can’t see the smoke in the darkness of the park, the nearest street lamp like a tiny white star in the distance. Harry lets the cigarette dangle in his fingers, a red glow between his knees.</p><p>“I thought I’d find you here.” It’s Ginny, though Harry can barely see her. </p><p>“You’re back?”</p><p>Ginny sits down next to Harry on the grass, leaning her head against his shoulder. She holds out her hand, and Harry passes her the cigarette. She examines it, before stamping it out in the grass. Harry sighs. </p><p>“Just visiting. Don’t like to be away from Mum too long at a time, you know.” </p><p>“Where are you off to next?”</p><p>“Morocco. We’re very excited.”</p><p>“How’s Luna?” Harry asks with a slight smirk. Ginny shoves him playfully with her shoulder. </p><p>“She’s great,” Ginny says warmly. “But how are you? Can’t remember the last time you came here to smoke. Thought you quit.”</p><p>“Me too.” Harry sighs and wraps an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “I miss you.”</p><p>“Harry.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“I know, but—”</p><p>“No buts, Ginny.”</p><p>“There always is one with you.” She shakes her head, then kisses Harry softly on the cheek. </p><p>“I saw Malfoy at the Ministry today.”</p><p>“Ah.” Harry can hear Ginny frown. “Do you know why?”</p><p>“No,” Harry says, “but I can’t expect it’s anything good.”</p><p>“You don’t know that for sure.”</p><p>“I do,” Harry replies firmly. “I know him.”</p><p>“You <em> knew </em>him, Harry.” Ginny takes Harry’s hand in hers. It’s weight is comfortable and yet heavy, like the shape of prison bars that are so familiar that gripping them is as grounding as it is burdensome. “The war has changed everyone. You know that more than anyone.”</p><p>“Some things never change,” Harry says darkly. </p><p>Ginny shakes her head, her hair tickling Harry’s cheek, a whisper of the past. “I don’t believe that.”</p><p>“I can’t forget.”</p><p>“No one is asking you to,” Ginny says gently.</p><p>“I can’t forgive either.”</p><p>“Harry, love—”</p><p>Harry sits up, dropping Ginny’s hand. She straightens her head, and Harry can just make out her blue eyes, so bright and startling in a sea of brown freckles. She looks at Harry with a terrible pity.</p><p>“Is it that you can’t forgive him, or that you don’t want to?” </p><p>“What’s the difference?” Harry asks harshly. </p><p>Ginny looks away to mask the anger in her face, but Harry sees it; it’s one of the things he loves about her, that fierce knowledge of what is right and wrong, no matter how difficult. </p><p>“It’s the most important difference of all.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. September 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We shouldn’t,” Harry whispers, pulling Ginny into the boy’s locker rooms, still out of breath from their Quidditch practice. Harry had just ordered the rest of the team to fly a few more laps and to put away equipment before dragging Ginny off on the pretense of a serious strategy discussion. </p><p>“That’s exactly why we should,” Ginny whispers back, grinning. They slide back an old tapestry that reveals a rotting wooden door. Ginny scrunches her nose. “Gross.”</p><p>“Yes, but also abandoned, and therefore private,” Harry says, opening the heavy door and slipping through. Ginny follows with one last glance behind her. </p><p>“It’s cold in here.” Ginny hugs her arms, where the sweat is starting to cool off with the damp walls of the old boy’s locker rooms, now an abandoned room with a few benches and broken broomsticks, radiating a chill like that in a graveyard. </p><p>“Not for long,” Harry says with a smirk. </p><p>“Oh really?”</p><p>Harry spins around, sitting back on a bench and pulling Ginny on top of his lap, wrapping his strong arms around her slim waist and kissing her. She snakes her arms around his neck, pushing their bodies close, tilting her head into a rough kiss. </p><p>Harry groans beneath her lips. “Ginny.”</p><p>A few moments of struggling out of sweaty Quidditch gear and falling on the floor panting, kissing hungrily, hands fumbling against skin, and Ginny arcs against the hardwood floor, gasping, eyes flying open and then shutting tightly again and Harry kisses the crook of her neck, breath stuttering as they become still once more. </p><p>Harry rolls to the side, out of breath, cheeks flush and green eyes bright against the dark wood around them. His head lolls to the side, and he gives her a lazy, satisfied grin. Ginny props herself up on her elbow, letting his eyes rake her body from her red hair down to her toes. </p><p>“Ron says I should date you,” Harry says, his eyes sparkling. </p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“Well what?”</p><p>“What did you tell him?” Ginny asks, lightly shoving his chest, which doesn’t move an inch, a slab of steel under her hand. He’s quite handsome, Ginny is reminded, with a slim physique of lean muscle that varies between slightly tan and pale depending on the season. Even his outrageous hair, a messy mop of brown hair that’s never brushed, sweeps over his forehead, curling at the temples, unassuming in its subtle beauty. </p><p>“I told him you don’t want to.” Harry watches Ginny’s reaction, but Ginny only smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. </p><p>“I guess that’s true enough,” Ginny says, looking away from Harry’s probing gaze. “I think it would be the biggest mistake.”</p><p>“Well, thank you for that.”</p><p>“Oh, piss off.” Ginny rolls her eyes, but there’s a serious set to her jaw. “I mean we’d be awful together. It’d never work, and people would just get hurt because of it.”</p><p>“But don’t you want to date someone? Call someone your own?” Harry asks, and the heat in his voice scares Ginny.</p><p>“I mean, yes,” Ginny says reluctantly. “But it can’t be you.” She hesitates, then adds, “At least, you can’t be that for me. If you asked me, though, I could be that for you.”</p><p>“Ginny—”</p><p>“Hear me out.” Ginny takes a deep breath, looking directly into Harry’s eyes, the exact color of the Quidditch pitch on a bright summer day. “I’m not in love with you, Harry. But if you gave yourself to me, I would too. I would give you my heart if you ever asked, if you ever needed me to.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Harry says dumbly. </p><p>Ginny’s face softens, and she smiles, brushing a hand over Harry’s arm. “I know.”</p><p>“It’s complicated.” His face has arranged itself in that careful indifference, but Ginny can see a glimmer of something past it, some dark and twisted turmoil he rarely reveals to others.</p><p>“I know.” Ginny sighs. “I do love you, though. And I care about you. I wish you would tell me what’s going on in that head of yours sometimes.” She ruffles his hair, and he frowns, suddenly troubled. </p><p>“Maybe Ron is right,” Harry says, and when Ginny starts to speak, he continues quickly. “Not about that, exactly.” He pauses, deep in thought. “You deserve to love someone who will want to be there for you in ways I can’t. Maybe we shouldn’t...maybe we should stop.” He looks at her with a face clear of tension, perfectly relaxed, maybe even too relaxed, Ginny thinks. </p><p>“Do you want to stop?” Ginny asks, unsure what to say. </p><p>“I want the best for you,” Harry says quietly, almost a whisper, though it seems like it took everything in him to say it. </p><p>Ginny closes her eyes, breathing softly. “Alright.” Her eyes are firm, like solid stone, and Harry can’t read through the walls. “This will be the last time.”</p><p>“And you’ll try to find someone? You promise?” Harry asks, tense. Ginny nods with a small smile, and Harry relaxes. “Then if this is the last time…”</p><p>Harry sits up and hovers over Ginny, pressing his lips on hers ever so gently, before kissing a path down her neck, between her breasts, right above her hips bones, and with his hands he spreads her legs apart. </p><p>“Harry,” Ginny breathes, and she throws her head back, lost in the moment for one last time. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Rain beats a steady rhythm against the stained glass windows in the dormitory. Harry adjusts the blankets on his bed, pulling them up around his waist. Already the chill of winter creeps into the castle during the night, and Harry shivers. </p><p>He props up the Marauders Map in his hands, though he doesn’t know what he expects to find, or what he’s looking for. Except, that’s not exactly true. </p><p>Harry zeroes in on the small footsteps rounding a corner near the Potions classroom. <em> Malfoy. </em>Without a second thought, Harry throws the blankets off his legs, slipping his feet into soft slippers, and after a moment’s deliberation, snags his Invisibility Cloak that’s tucked under his bed. Then he leaves. </p><p>The Lumos from his wand cannot shine on the Map and his surroundings at the same time, so Harry makes the slow trek stopping to look down at his map and noting where Malfoy is, and then holding his wand out to make sure he’s in the right place. </p><p>He’s just a few paces in front of the corner where Malfoy will turn at any moment. “<em> Nox,” </em>Harry whispers, before pulling on his Cloak. Darkness envelopes him, and he crouches against the wall, listening. </p><p>Footsteps, barely heard. Harry strains his ears, and when they pass his hiding spot, he gets up and follows them. </p><p>Up and up and up. Harry can’t see anything well, going off sound and instinct alone. Malfoy pauses occasionally, most likely to look around, and Harry freezes, hoping the rustle of his Cloak isn’t as loud as it seems. </p><p>They take staircase after staircase, and Harry begins to wonder where they are going. Finally they reach the metal steps that lead to the Astronomy tower. Harry clenches his Cloak closer, praying to Merlin that he’s still small enough that his shoes won’t peek out from under. </p><p>The pale light of the moon shines on Draco, and Harry can see that he’s fully dressed in dark formal robes, like he just came from a dinner party. Draco walks to the railings at the edge of the platform, looking over the side at the sheer drop to the grass below. </p><p>Then he looks up, staring at the horizon.</p><p>“Your steps are as loud as a Giant’s,” Draco says coldly. “If you want to follow someone successfully, I would suggest a Muffliato.”</p><p>Harry pulls the Cloak off, and Draco turns around, narrowing his eyes at him. </p><p>“What do you want?” Draco asks, lifting his chin up defiantly. Harry can’t help but stare at him. He likes to look at Malfoy. His paleness astounds Harry. Pale eyebrows, pale eyelashes, pale lips, pale skin. In the cold moonlight, he almost glows, like a statue sculpted from marble. </p><p>“I wanted to follow you,” Harry says plainly, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“Obviously,” Draco replies, his voice dripping with disdain, and Harry almost smiles. “But why? Come to turn me in?”</p><p>“That would be counterproductive, I’d think.”</p><p>“You’re mental,” Draco says, dazed. </p><p>“Perhaps.” Harry walks forward, standing beside Draco, resting his hands on the railing and looking out at the lake, a flat expanse of glassy water sparkling with starlight, hugged close by rolling green hills. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”</p><p>Draco looks at him sideways, his shoulders tense at the proximity of his boyhood rival. “I suppose. Never really thought about it.”</p><p>“I grew up here, during the school year.” Harry looks at his knuckles, at the fading white scar on his left hand, spelling <em> I must not tell lies. </em>He catches Draco looking at it, and he pulls down his sleeve to cover it. “When I was younger, before Hogwarts, I would come up here and stare out at the lake and wonder what my life would be like.”</p><p>“Living up to your expectations?” Draco asks with an edge of sarcasm.</p><p>“Yes,” Harry says, “and no.”</p><p>“Where would you live in the summer?”</p><p>“With Dumbledore.”</p><p>“I gathered that, but where? I always wondered where someone like Dumbledore would live,” Draco says, and Harry tenses ever so slightly, a movement Draco narrows his eyes at.</p><p>“I always thought I would teach here, you know,” Harry says, almost wistfully, skillfully avoiding Draco’s question, as if he never asked it at all. “Some day.”</p><p>“And why wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Harry looks at Draco with a sad smile, then looks away. “You said the other night, that I’d be better off in Slytherin.”</p><p>“I only meant—”</p><p>“You were right,” Harry says with deadly calm. “I would have been better off.”</p><p>Draco stares at Harry speechless, looking out into the night, a gleam in his eyes which he hides with an easygoing smile, containing none of the darkness from just moments ago. </p><p>Harry turns and walks away. Before he reaches the stairs, he looks back at Draco, and in the darkness his eyes are the color of an emerald stone, the color of the Slytherin house. Then he disappears down the stairs, leaving Draco alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. September 2005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ron? Hermione?” Harry calls from the living room. He dusts some remaining Floo powder off his cloak, pausing when he hears voices in the kitchen. </p><p>“Harry?” Hermione appears in the doorway to the kitchen, cheeks flushed and a glass of wine in one hand. She looks anxiously behind her, before looking at Harry and smiling. “What a wonderful surprise!”</p><p>A murmur of conversation floats from behind her, and Hermione frowns. </p><p>“Do you have a guest?” Harry asks. </p><p>“Oh, well, yes, I suppose,” Hermione stutters, blushing. “You see—”</p><p>“But don’t stand there, Hermione. Introduce me,” Harry says, and with a grimace Hermione walks back into the kitchen and Harry follows behind her. </p><p>Ron has little Rose in his arms, chatting amiably with someone in dark robes and gleaming white blonde hair. Draco turns and smiles at Hermione, before noticing Harry behind her and going pale.</p><p>“Oh Harry’s here!” Ron grins at him, but Harry doesn’t return it. He sits down in the empty seat across from Draco, with Ron and Hermione at the ends of the table. </p><p>“Malfoy,” Harry says without inflection, inclining his head ever so slightly. Draco stares at him and then looks down at his plate, which still has half a blueberry pie on it. Harry must have come right during dessert, which is Ron’s expertise. </p><p>Hermione looks between Harry and Draco worriedly. </p><p>“Well, Draco and I were just talking about McGonagall as the new Headmaster,” Ron says through a mouthful of pie, oblivious to the new tension that sprung up with Harry’s arrival and Hermione’s urgent warning with her eyes. “Must be strict, no doubt. Dumbledore was the best, of course, and McGonagall can be right terrifying, but she’ll get the school in proper shape again.” He stops, looking at Hermione and chewing slowly, before looking at Harry and Draco, swallowing. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No,” Harry says coolly. “I'm sure McGonagall is a great Headmaster.”</p><p>“Yes, it’s time a woman takes charge of things,” Hermione agrees sternly, still carefully watching Harry. “Merlin knows men have done enough damage for a century.”</p><p>“What do you think, Draco?” Ron asks, taking another large bit of pie, smearing blueberry on his cheek, which Hermione fondly scoffs at. When Rose begins to whine, Ron dips his pinkie into the jelly and let’s Rose gently suck it, immediately calming her. Hermione smiles, shaking her head. </p><p>“Yes, <em> Draco, </em>” Harry says with a chilly smile, and Draco’s head snaps up and he looks at Harry, startled and resentful. “What do you think?”</p><p>Hermione shoots Harry an angry look. Ron has finally caught on, and glances at Harry curiously, and perhaps more shrewdly than Harry gives him credit. He does not reproach Harry, instead looking at Draco, carefully gauging his reaction.</p><p>“I think,” Draco says slowly, looking Harry in the eyes, “that McGonagall will preserve Dumbledore’s legacy, while making her own.”</p><p>“Well said, Draco,” Hermione says, smiling and looking at Harry earnestly as if to say, <em> see, he’s good now! </em>Harry gets up, his chair scraping behind him. </p><p>“I should go,” Harry says. Hermione starts to protest, getting up, and then Draco stands up solemnly. </p><p>“No,” Draco interrupts softly. “I’ll go. I need to get home anyway. Pansy will surely be waiting up for me.” Harry’s head jerks up, looking at Draco with wild eyes, before forcing his gaze down at the table. </p><p>Draco moves to leave, and Hermione smiles apologetically. They walk out of the kitchen together, and Harry sits back down slowly. Ron sighs. </p><p>“Want to tell me what that’s about?” Ron asks, already sounding resigned. </p><p>“No.” Harry stares at the seat where Draco was sitting moments before, the unfinished plate of blueberry pie the only reminder that he was even there. He hears the swoosh of the Floo, and then Hermione storms inside. </p><p>“Can you not play nice for a second, Harry, I mean honestly!” Hermione shouts. “You humiliated him, and he was a guest in my home! Do you have no shame?”</p><p>Harry leans forward, his eyes like the depths of a green forest, and Ron notes to himself that for the first time in weeks Harry seems to have come alive, with his shoulders brimming with untamed energy, a glimmer of the intensity that so shocked Ron at the Battle. </p><p>“I don’t trust him, Hermione,” Harry says in a low voice, with the smooth persuasiveness that has always struck Ron as somewhat unsettling. “He’s a Death Eater.”</p><p>“He <em> was </em>a Death Eater,” Ron says, somewhat awkwardly. “Come on, mate. He made some bad choices, but it’s time to let it go.”</p><p>“I don’t understand how you can trust him.” Harry leans back, some of that intensity dimming and hardening into a fury before he shakes his head. Ron watches him, almost fascinated, realizing once again how little he knows his best friend. “I don’t understand how you can forgive him for what he’s done.” </p><p>“What could he possibly do now?” Hermione asks, exasperated. “What are you so scared of? You have been directly involved in the reforms at the Ministry. You know how strict they are.”</p><p>“Think about it, Hermione,” Harry says flatly. “That’s exactly why he would want to work with the Ministry—for sympathy. Then he’ll worm his way into weakening reforms and giving other Death Eaters the chance to rebel. Nothing will change, you’ll see. Not to mention his suspicious potions business.”</p><p>“That’s a very convincing argument,” Hermione says with a smirk. “But there’s only one small problem.”</p><p>“Draco <em> didn’t </em>want to work with the Ministry,” Ron finishes. </p><p>“Is that so?” Harry asks.</p><p>Hermione rolls her eyes. “Yes, it is. The Ministry approached Draco asking for help. It took a lot of persuading on our part to get him to agree.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Harry challenges. “And what did the Ministry bribe him with, exactly?”</p><p>“The Malfoy Manor.” A ghost of a smile appears on Hermione’s face. “He wanted the rights to burn it down.”<br/><br/></p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco likes to walk in Muggle neighborhoods, browse local bookstores and flower shops and cafes, smile and wave at the ever so ordinary people that walk past. He likes the fact that no one knows him here. That no one hates him here before he can speak a single word.</p><p>Pansy thinks he’s lying to himself, but Draco doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about much anymore. Except his potions, he supposes.</p><p>The cool air of the London night gusts across his face when he steps out of the bar, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights of the street lamps as he rounds the corner into the alleyway, his body humming with the warmth of a few drinks. He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and with a quick glance around to make sure no one is looking, lights the end with a quick snap of his fingers. </p><p>“Malfoy?” a voice asks, incredulous. Draco looks around, but the alleyway is empty. Then a figure emerges from the darkness shrouding the far corner. Harry Potter steps forward, eyeing Draco suspiciously but without anger, an unlit cigarette in his right hand. He’s wearing tight black jeans, and in the night they are the same color as his hair. </p><p>“Potter,” Draco says with a sigh. He’d been having a good night so far; the last person he wanted to see was Harry. “What are you doing here?” </p><p>“Deciding whether I should smoke or not,” Harry says with that peculiar honesty that provides absolutely no useful information, and in fact does not really answer the question. “You see, I quit when Rose was born.”</p><p>“Then why start up again?” Draco asks, momentarily forgetting his original question. Of course, that’s exactly what Harry had intended, Draco reminds himself bitterly.  </p><p>“It’s something to do,” Harry says, turning the cigarette over in his palm. </p><p>“That’s not a very good reason.”</p><p>“Well, what’s yours?” Harry asks. </p><p>Draco looks at his own cigarette. “To blend in.”</p><p>“With Muggles?” Harry sounds surprised but not confused. </p><p>“Yes,” Draco says defensively. “It’s easier this way, though Merlin knows I hate the taste.”</p><p>“Then don’t smoke.”</p><p>“Don’t you always have the simple solution,” Draco mocks. Harry clenches his cigarette in his fist, then opens it and a small pile of ash is at the center of his palm where his cigarette was just a second ago. The breeze scatters the ash, and it spills between his fingers like sand. </p><p>“You asked why I’m here,” Harry says slowly, still watching the ash float away in the air, falling like snow on the ground. He looks up at Draco, and Draco is startled at the heat in his eyes, the deep green of an emerald stone lost for centuries under the sea, the color that haunts his dreams at night. “But I think you already know. It’s the same reason you’re here, after all.”</p><p>Draco shakes his head. “You don’t know me, Harry.” </p><p>“If only that were true,” Harry says quietly. “<em> ‘I see your soul, and it’s as black as mine.’ </em>” He walks forward, captivating Draco with his stare alone, that primal intensity that slithers underneath his skin. Draco can’t look away. </p><p>“You know me, Draco. Better than anyone,” Harry murmurs, coming to a stop right in front of Draco, less than an arm’s length away. Draco holds his breath; he can see the black of Harry’s pupils widening, drowning out the green. There’s a shade of a day's stubble on his jaw.</p><p>“I was wrong, that day,” Draco says, his voice trembling. “I thought I knew you. But I didn’t. I don’t think anyone does. You make sure of it.”</p><p>Harry's eyes flash. “Don’t forget I was the one who got betrayed.” Draco feels a surge of anger he’s long kept at bay choke his throat, the injustice of it all like an iron fist. </p><p>“And that’s your problem, Harry.” Draco reaches out a hand, as if to brush his fingers against Harry’s jaw to feel the roughness, the texture of a past long settled in the dust of a war. His hand pauses midair, then lowers to his side. “You only ever thought about yourself.”</p><p>“That’s a lie.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve always been a liar, haven’t I?” Draco asks softly. Harry flinches, and for a moment Draco almost pities him. Almost. </p><p>Harry takes a step back, looking away. “I will find out what you’re up to.”</p><p>“Go ahead,” Draco says, spreading his arms out wide. “I have nothing to hide. Unless, of course, you’re scared of just that.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes. </p><p>“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Draco smirks. “That’s the trouble of keeping so many secrets, Harry. One might just...come out.”</p><p>Harry pales, his jaw tense. “That’s not just my secret.”</p><p>“On the contrary,” Draco says tersely, “you’ll find that for people with nothing left to lose, secrets don’t mean a thing.”</p><p>“That’s a dangerous game, Draco,” Harry grits out through clenched teeth. “I wouldn’t play, if I were you.”</p><p>“But don’t you get it, Harry?” Draco turns, letting his cigarette fall to the ground and crunching it under the heel of his boot. “I’ve already won.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. September 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco walks quietly down the row titled <em> On Magical Artifacts </em> in the back of the library. His fingers brush over the spines, scanning the titles. <em> Magical Objects and Their Uses. </em> It’s a large volume carefully bound in red velvet, with gold stamped lettering. Draco gingerly opens it, scanning the table of contents. <em> Transportation and Transmutation, page 254. </em>He hears a rustle of robes behind him, and quickly slips the book back on the shelf.</p><p>“Quite the reader, are you?” Harry comments, and Draco curses to himself before turning around. To his dismay, Harry is leaning against the book shelf, looking at Draco with eyes like burning coals, as if his gaze could burn a path through Draco’s mind. </p><p>“Just browsing,” Draco says, looking at Harry curiously, thinking back to their conversation on the Astronomy Tower. He wonders what a passerby would see; schoolboy rivals a few feet apart, staring at each other. One dark hair, the other light hair, one in red and gold, the other in green and silver. </p><p>“I didn’t follow you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Harry takes a step closer, never taking his eyes off Draco. “I’m waiting for Hermione and Ron to join me. Thought I’d...browse, as well. I was thinking of checking out a book on Magical Artifacts. Any recommendations?” Harry smiles at him, and despite it all, Draco can’t help but think it’s dazzling in its cunning. </p><p>“No,” Draco says curtly. “I was just leaving.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“What do you want?” </p><p>“Just to chat,” Harry says amiably. He points to the book Draco was flipping through before Harry rudely burst in on his browsing. “For class? Or just for fun?”</p><p>“None of your business,” Draco retorts sharply. </p><p>“No need to get defensive,” Harry says with a smirk, caressing the binding of the book and looking at Draco through his lashes. “I was only wondering what you were interested in.” </p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“You know, as a friend.” </p><p>“We’re not friends, Potter.”</p><p>Draco swears he sees a flicker of hurt pass over Harry’s face, but then he decides it was probably just annoyance. The emotion fades, leaving a smirk and green eyes fixed on Draco’s face. He doesn’t understand why Harry has just now decided to find Draco so worth his time. </p><p>“You’re right, Draco,” Harry says, and it’s the first time he’s used his first name. Draco can scarcely move a muscle as Harry takes one more step forward so he’s close enough to touch if Draco just reaches his hand out a few inches. He never noticed the sprinkle of sun spots on Harry’s nose, only a shade darker than his skin. “We’re not friends, are we?”</p><p>“I need to go,” Draco says tersely, and he wills himself to move past Harry. A hand grips his arm, forcing him to stay put. He struggles against the grip, and with surprising strength Harry pulls Draco closer to him, their faces mere inches apart. </p><p>“Do you ever wonder what we would be if I chose Slytherin?” Harry asks quietly, looking into Draco’s eyes. His eyes scan Draco’s face intently. </p><p>“Chose?” Draco echoes.</p><p>“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Harry says in a low voice, ignoring what Draco said. His grip on Draco’s arm tightens. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”</p><p>“Me?” </p><p>“You’re driving me mad, Draco,” Harry whispers, and he bites his bottom lip. </p><p>“Mad?”</p><p>“I see you in my dreams,” Harry continues with an unveiled urgency.</p><p>“Dreams?” The word floats in Draco’s mind sluggishly, like a leaf slowly drowning in a current. Harry reaches up with his other hand, lightly tracing Draco’s cheek. Draco holds his breath. </p><p>“You haunt me,” Harry says in the same way Draco always imagines someone saying <em> I love you. </em>Harry leans in, and Draco doesn’t stop him. When their lips meet, Draco gasps, and Harry yanks him closer in response, their teeth scraping and all Draco can think about is how hot Harry’s mouth feels against his, burning like a furnace. </p><p>“Harry?” a voice calls out from far away. Harry jerks back, breathless. He doesn’t look at Draco, his face dark and storming. </p><p>“Tomorrow night,” Harry says roughly. “Meet me outside the Dining Hall after dark.”</p><p>Draco nods wordlessly, and then the pressure on his arm is gone and Harry disappears around the corner of the bookshelf. When he’s gone, Draco takes a deep breath in, one hand on the nearby shelf for support. His mind whirls with a thousand thoughts he does not understand. </p><p>He looks up. The space where the <em> Magical Objects and Their Uses </em>was is empty. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“Albus? You called for me?” Harry walks across the Headmaster’s office, stealing a lemon drop from a nearby bowl and popping it into his mouth. The sourness reminds him of growing up and Lucy bribing him with candy in order to lure him to the bath. </p><p>“Yes, come here Harry. I have something to show you,” Dumbledore says, and when Harry walks further inside sees that Dumbledore is hunched over the Pensieve. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“A memory.”</p><p>“I gathered that,” Harry says in annoyance. He hangs back a few paces, and Dumbledore turns with a raised brow.</p><p>“Are you alright Harry?” </p><p>Harry crosses his arms, frowning. “I’m fine.” A hint of a smile returns to Dumbledore’s face. “I just want to know what the memory is about.”</p><p>“Very well,” Dumbledore says, straightening up. He strides swiftly across the room, reminding Harry that for such an old man his guardian—as Albus likes to call himself in regards to Harry—is still quite sharp on his feet, and no less in the mind. Something Harry learned very early on, and never forgot. “It’s about Tom Riddle.”</p><p>“Of course,” Harry says scornfully. </p><p>“This information is imperative, Harry.”</p><p>“So imperative that you waited sixteen years to tell me?” </p><p>“You were not ready,” Dumbledore says impatiently. He sits down on the edge of his desk, restless. “I did not want to burden you with this until absolutely necessary.”</p><p>“Did it ever occur to you that that’s not your choice to make?” Harry asks sharply.</p><p>“Might I remind you that I raised you,” Dumbledore says not without a similar sharpness. He sighs, tugging at his long beard. “I’m not your father, but I care about you.”</p><p>“No, you’re not my father.” Harry walks over to the Pensieve, where dark swirls of memory slither like snakes in the water. His voice comes out flat. “Tom Riddle killed him.”</p><p>“Harry—” Dumbledore begins, but Harry cuts him off. </p><p>“I know you didn’t want to raise me. You never wanted children.” Harry tears his eyes away from the coiling tendrils of the past and looks at Dumbledore. “I was a hindrance.”</p><p>“That’s not true, Harry.”</p><p>“Would you still have protected me if I was in Slytherin?” Harry glances at the Sorting Hat, perched on a high shelf on the far wall, but it stays silent. </p><p>“You’re not in Slytherin.”</p><p>“Maybe I should have been,” Harry says under his breath. Dumbledore tilts his head, and Harry knows this probing look well. He turns his back on Dumbledore so he doesn’t see Harry’s face. Part of him yearns to reveal the dark, teeming thoughts that plague his dreams at night, while the other, stronger side of himself desperately wants to lock everything up inside. </p><p>“Harry, is there something you would like to tell me?” Dumbledore asks carefully.</p><p>“No,” Harry says coldly. “Just show me the memory.”</p><p>Dumbledore sighs. “I am not perfect, Harry. Please do not expect it of me.”</p><p>Harry swivels around in accusation. “I could say the same.”</p><p>“We all have light and dark within us,” Dumbledore reminds him, and Harry scowls. He hates these witty turns of phrases, even though he likes to come up with them as well. However, when directed at Harry they always come with a hint of condescension that only reminds him of how his guardian always treats him like the child he no longer is. </p><p>“Sometimes the dark overpowers the light,” Harry says.</p><p>Dumbledore stands up and storms across the office, pointing a finger at Harry. “Darkness is only the absence of light, nothing more. The only power it has is the power we give to it. I would hope I’ve taught you better.”</p><p>“Is that what you taught Tom Riddle?” Harry asks. </p><p>“If you are so curious, why don’t I show you,” Dumbledore replies, flourishing his hand towards the Pensieve. </p><p>Harry looks down into its clear water with dark curls like spilled ink, and after a long moment, nods shortly. Together they lower their heads into the large, glimmering basin, falling as the past rushes up from the ground.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Harry turns the small, worn Potions textbook over in his hands, staring into the fire. He tunes out the quiet bickering between Ron and Hermione, who sit on the floor next to the couch he’s stretched out on. </p><p>He opens the book to where he had left a small piece of parchment marking where he left off, scanning the page not for the words already printed inside, but the scrawled handwriting crammed in the margins. The black ink is almost seductive in its hidden knowledge. </p><p>“Oh, he’s reading that bloody book again,” Hermione mutters. Harry looks up from his book to see Hermione narrowing her eyes at him. </p><p>“You hammer us about reading all day long, and now that he’s reading, you tell him not to!” Ron exclaims. “Leave the poor boy alone.”</p><p>Harry smiles subconsciously, continuing to read. </p><p>“But he’s not reading the book. He’s reading the annotations,” he hears Hermione say to Ron in the background. “On that note, have <em>you</em> read a single book this year? Ron, honestly!”</p><p> Harry traces the notes with his fingertips, then turns the page. A darker scrawled note draws his attention at the top of the next page. </p><p>
  <strong><em>Sectumsempra</em>—<em>For enemies. </em></strong>
</p><p>“Oh, there’s Ginny,” Hermione says. Harry shuts the book closed, his head snapping up to search the room for her fiery red hair. He watches as Ginny enters through the portrait, hair in a messy ponytail and still in Quidditch gear no doubt from an extra practice, chatting with Dean Thomas who walks alongside her, smiling. They walk across the common room without looking over at them.</p><p>“What’s she doing with Dean?” Ron asks, sounding horrified. “Harry?”</p><p>Ginny says goodbye to Dean and walks past them without saying a word, hurrying up the flight of stairs to the girls dormitory, her red hair swishing behind her before it’s swallowed by the door slamming shut. </p><p>“I should go to bed,” Harry says, bland in its evasiveness, before getting up and leaving Ron and Hermione alone. </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. September 2005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny has always loved London. Even on a smoggy, chilly night like tonight, she delights in walking down crooked streets, beer drunken laughter wafting from bars down the road, a bright red omnibus careening past, headlights flashing on a group of rowdy teenagers, their skateboards scraping the asphalt.</p><p>She crosses the street, throwing one look behind her shoulder, before slipping into an alleyway. With her wand, she taps on the red brick wall, the pattern of a triangle over a square; seven pointed star for good luck. The brick wall shimmers, and Ginny walks through it. </p><p>On the other side a quiet street unfurls in front of Ginny, with quaint houses lining both sides. It’s easy enough to tell which one belongs to Ron and Hermione. Or at least, Luna has taught her to notice the traces of magic people leave behind like fingerprints. </p><p>Ginny can quickly point out the windows and the structure and the lawn as examples of Hermione’s more clear cut, direct style of magic, while the artful colors of the wood panels, the slightly crooked attic window, and the homely pots with flowers on the porch that definitely creaks as you walk across it all subtly speak of Ron’s more casual, messy and yet personal magic touch. However, Ginny could not explain why she knows this; it’s a certain type of knowledge that comes only from careful, loving attention. </p><p>When she enters the house, the first thing Ginny hears is a baby screaming. She grimaces, then continues walking into the living room, where Hermione and Ron try to soothe a very upset Rose, whose bib is stained with what Ginny hopes is apple sauce. </p><p>“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione says, almost in relief, getting up to hug Ginny, as if both happy to see her and grateful for a break from the tantrum. “I’m so glad you could come by. I know you and Luna are on a tight schedule.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not easy visiting every country in the world before Christmas break,” Ginny jokes, taking a seat in the chair beside Hermione, who takes Rose from Ron gently and with her hands and a murmur creates a soft, glowing ball of light that floats from her palm. Rose calms down immediately, staring in awe at the ball of light. </p><p>Ron watches them fondly, before moving his attention to Ginny. “Where’s Luna, anyway?”</p><p>“Visiting her dad. He gets very sad and lonely when she’s away.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t we know it,” Ron mutters under his breath, which earns him a sharp look from Hermione. “What?”</p><p>“Mr. Lovegood is an honorable man. He was only trying to protect his daughter. Honestly, I would hope you would do the same if it came to Rose.” Hermione kisses the baby’s cheek, eyeing Ron, who flushes. Ginny suddenly feels awkward, like she’s stumbled upon a marital argument in the making that she does not understand and does not want to. </p><p>“Well I really can’t stay long,” Ginny say before Ron can speak. They both turn with identical confused and demanding faces. </p><p>“But where are you going?” Ron asks. </p><p>“At least stay for tea,” Hermione adds. </p><p>“I can stay for tea,” Ginny relents. “But I need to stop by the apartment to pick up some of my things.” Hermione and Ron share a look. “I still have some clothes there. Luna and I plan to leave for Morocco tonight. She likes to travel by starlight.” She blushes and stops talking. Hermione looks at her with a sudden curiosity, while Ron clears his throat. </p><p>“Maybe,” Ron begins, then stops. “If Harry’s there…” He trails off again, and looks hopelessly at Hermione. Ginny looks at Hermione too, a sense of defiance washing over her like armor. </p><p>“If Harry’s there, what?” Ginny demands. “It’s his apartment, did you think I was just going to waltz back in there? He knows I’m coming.”</p><p>“What Ron is trying to say, Ginny,” Hermione say carefully, “is that we’re worried about Harry. He doesn’t listen to us, so we thought maybe you could talk to him? We know he trusts you.”</p><p>“Harry doesn’t trust anyone,” Ginny says flatly. “Not even me.”</p><p>Hermione looks hurt. “Harry’s still human, even when he doesn’t believe it.”</p><p>Ginny wants to tell her that if Harry doesn’t believe it, it might as well be true, even if it’s not. Instead she asks, “Why are you guys worried?”</p><p>Hermione and Ron share another look. This time Ron speaks. </p><p>“We think that he’s becoming obsessed with Malfoy again. He came over when we were having dinner with him, and didn’t take it well. Said the poor bloke is trying to take over the Ministry from the inside,” Ron says, shaking his head. Ginny almost starts, but keeps her body and features still and casual. </p><p>“Is he?” Ginny asks. </p><p>Ron rolls his eyes. “Course not. The Ministry asked him to work in the first place, and he didn’t even want to! That should be proof enough.” Then he half smiles, lowering his voice. “Now don’t tell Harry this, but the reason we know for sure that Malfoy’s not up to something is because <em> Hermione’s </em>the one who asked him in the first place.”</p><p>“Harry won’t be happy about that,” Ginny says, trying to calm her racing pulse. She feels like she just executed a dangerous dive to shake off a pair of Chasers. Her mind keeps pushing away memories of dark hallways, soft voices, and the utter shock of secrecy when there was already such delicate trust. </p><p>“That’s why he will never know,” Hermione says tightly. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>While Ron and Hermione’s home felt warm and cozy and distinctly theirs, Harry’s flat in a more central, urban part of London gives off a dull, colorless aura, and Ginny has no trouble identifying the rigid, cookie cutter magic as Ministry issued. </p><p>She always hated it, and suspects Harry does too. Or maybe he doesn’t care enough to hate it, though Ginny prefers not to think of him like that. Like he’s a monster. </p><p>“Honey, I’m home!” Ginny calls out playfully when she opens the door. Harry looks up from where he’s leaning against the sparklingly clean kitchen counter, a glass of scotch in one hand. </p><p>“Not funny,” Harry says wryly, setting his glass down and walking around the counter. </p><p>“Really? I found it hilarious,” Ginny replies, hugging Harry when he comes over to her. Something she would never have expected from Harry if she didn’t know him intimately is that he shows affection very physically, a lot of touching and hugging. She supposes it makes up for the lack of affection in other parts of him. </p><p>“Never go into comedy, then.” Harry cracks a grin when Ginny laughs. “Want a glass?”</p><p>“No.” Ginny follows Harry into the kitchen. She doesn’t have many memories here. In some ways, it’s a blessing. “Portkeying and alcohol don’t mix.”</p><p>“Ah.” Harry pours himself some more. “Leaving tonight, then.”</p><p>“<em> By the light of the moon </em>,” Ginny quotes. “That’s what Luna always says.”</p><p>Harry smiles fondly. This has always struck Ginny as odd; he’s always had a soft spot for Luna, even before Ginny noticed her. “How is Luna, by the way?”</p><p>“She’s good. Our trips have been amazing because of her. I always hated traveling, you know, for the longest time. As the youngest in a big family it was awful, never any peace, always chaos. But Luna slows me down.” Ginny smiles to herself. “Makes me stop and look up at the stars.”</p><p>“Luna has a way of knowing what’s best for you.” Harry sounds like he knows this from personal experience. He takes a sip of his scotch, seamlessly slipping into that ruminating mood where Ginny could never pierce through, those dark green eyes—a forest of secrets—going out of focus. </p><p>“I heard Malfoy is working with the Ministry now,” Ginny says as casually as possible. </p><p>Harry’s head snaps up and he looks at Ginny like a deer in the headlights. Then he frowns and looks away. “Yes. Hermione and Ron are quite fond of him now.” He sounds for all the world as if he could care less. Ginny knows he does care, though, about this. </p><p>“Does that bother you?” Ginny asks. </p><p>Harry shrugs. “Why should it?” He turns around, as if to block Ginny from his mind not just mentally, but physically too. This has always angered Ginny, and it still does now. She strides over to him and yanks his shirt sleeve. Harry whirls around, stunned, looking at Ginny like he wonders how she got there. </p><p>“Don’t push me away, Harry,” Ginny says in a low voice. “I have given <em> everything </em>when you asked for it. The least you can do is look me in the eyes.”</p><p>Harry gives her a wild look. “That’s unfair. You said—”</p><p>“I know what I said,” Ginny interrupts angrily. “Trust me.”</p><p>“I would never have asked for anything you didn’t want to give,” Harry counters. Ginny throws her hands up, scoffing. She wants to grab Harry’s shoulders and shake them until he really looks at her. </p><p>But she knows he won’t. He’s only ever really seen one person.</p><p>“I love you, Harry. I’ve moved on, but I will never stop loving you. And Ron and Hermione love you. And Mum and Dad love you. And Dumbledore loved you. So many people in your life, Harry, and yet you stand here like you’re all alone.” Ginny shakes her head, already turning away. Sometimes, the best thing—the only thing—is to walk away. </p><p>“Ginny.” </p><p>She pauses on her way to the stairs, her mind already drifting to long blonde hair, blue eyes, and soft, searching hands; the hands of an angel, of a rosy-fingered dawn. Harry’s voice breaks through like a blade cutting water. </p><p>“I never wanted to hurt you.”</p><p>Ginny stares at the floor, clenching her fist and then letting it release slowly. She turns around and looks at him; Harry’s hair is a splash of dark ink against the sea of white kitchen cabinets and counters, and he stares at Ginny with a mixture of longing and bitterness. </p><p>“It’s not you against the world, Harry. It never was.”</p><p>Ginny walks away. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>The shop smells of burned incense and wet wood. The latter might be explained by the heavy downpour that struck London out of nowhere earlier this morning, though the small room is quite underground. Perhaps to keep away from prying Ministry eyes.</p><p>Whatever the reason, Harry finds it suspicious, and mentally takes note of it.  </p><p>Harry looks around at the shelves lining the walls. Glass bottles, vials, and jars of a variety of ingredients, both common and rare, as well as ready-to-buy potions, sit crammed on the shelves. When Harry looks at one in particular—a vial of deep, violet liquid so thick and smooth as to appear velvety—a shimmery price tag hovers below it alongside a name. </p><p><em> Sleeping Draught, 3 galleons </em>.</p><p>A creak of a door and soft footsteps shake Harry’s attention away, and the shimmering label fades to air. He looks at the front desk, and his breath catches ever so slightly at the blond hair and dark robes. </p><p>“Good evening, Draco.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. September 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry watches Draco pace nervously in the shadows beside the large, oak wood doors of the Great Hall. Draco sifts his fingers through his blond locks, and Harry wonders not for the first time how they would feel. Soft, wispy, like finely spun thread? Or silky, velvety, smooth strands that he could grip in his hand?</p><p>He takes a step forward, and Draco’s head jerks up at the sound, eyes wide and frightened. Harry reveals himself in the dim light of a nearby sconce. Draco straightens himself when he sees it’s Harry, as if in preparation to defend himself, like invisible armor. </p><p>“Potter,” Draco says. “You’re late.”</p><p>“From your perspective, perhaps.” Harry pauses, half smirking. “The sun sets later from the top of a tower than the depths of a dungeon.”</p><p>“Clever way to make me wait,” Draco says sharply. His eyes, though, glitter with amusement. Harry’s lips curve into a smile. </p><p>“You think I’m clever?” Harry asks, mostly teasing, but Draco blushes.</p><p>“I think you’re lots of things,” Draco replies very steadily. “Thief being one of them.”</p><p>With an unneeded flourish, Harry reveals the large red tomb Draco was looking at in the library. <em> Magical Objects and Their Uses </em>is written on the cover in flaky gold ink. “This, you mean?” Harry asks innocently. </p><p>Draco’s eyes narrow, but he remains impassive, barely looking at the book. “No.” He looks away, before turning back to Harry with a very calm gaze, almost steely. “You stole a kiss.” The moment the words fall from his lips, Draco blushes again, frowning intensely.</p><p>“Ah,” Harry says quietly, “that.”</p><p>“But I would take the book, if you’re offering,” Draco says, clearly attempting to change the subject. Harry holds out the book, and after a moment, Draco strides over, his robes twisting and curling around his ankles like a dark frothing sea, and grabs the book, pressing it under his arm possessively. </p><p>“Do you trust me?” Harry asks, holding out a hand. Draco’s gaze flickers from the outstretched hand and back to Harry’s eyes. His light grey eyes darken as if shadowed, and he swallows uneasily. Harry follows the movement of his pale, gleaming throat.</p><p>“Yes,” Draco whispers. He takes Harry’s hand, and it’s cool and smooth. A voice rings out in Harry’s head in response, a dark voice, a familiar voice, because it’s his own. <em> Maybe you shouldn’t.  </em></p><p>But he doesn’t tell Draco that. Instead he says with the ghost of a smile, “Follow me.”</p><p>He does. </p><p>They quietly make their way through the castle, much like they did that one night, except everything is entirely different now. The weight in Harry’s hand is solid and warm, but so unlike any other hand he’s held. Ginny’s and Hermione’s were more delicate, smaller, almost softer. Even Ron’s hand was different, plump and relaxed and large, always warm and usually a little bit sweaty. </p><p>Draco’s is thin and sharp where the knuckles are, and his grip is tight, demanding.</p><p><em> “Lumos,” </em>Harry whispers, his wand in the free hand shining on the dark steps to the underground passageway, the fastest way to the kitchens. They reach the portrait, and this time Draco tickles the pear. </p><p>The large room is almost pitch black. It only takes a moment for them to realize why. </p><p>Draco stifles a gasp. “The furnace. It’s gone.”</p><p>“It’s not gone, just without a fire.” </p><p>“It’s cold without it,” Draco observes, and as if instinctively craving warmth, he moves closer to Harry. Their arms brush, but neither move away. </p><p>“Well you can’t expect it to be kept running all night long.” Harry sounds almost defensive in his bored drawl. “House Elves have lives, you know.” </p><p>“I know that,” Draco says, annoyed. “I’m not stupid.” He starts to pull away, but Harry tugs him closer, and Draco stumbles forward, steadying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the book falling to the ground with a thud but both of them pay it no notice. </p><p>“I never said you were,” Harry mutters, already forgetting what he said to make Draco so fussy, his attention lowering to Draco’s mouth, slightly parted and ever so close. Draco’s eyes flutter shut, and Harry notices his breaths come out short. Draco curls his arm slowly around Harry’s neck, like he’s still afraid that Harry might resist him. </p><p>As if Harry could ever resist him.  </p><p>“You could have anyone,” Draco says, almost an exhale, lowering his face against the crook of Harry’s neck as if to hide his face, right alongside the hem of his robes. Harry can feel his breath soft and hot against his skin. He can’t remember why he ever thought the room was cold. “So why me?”</p><p>“It can only be you.” Harry threads a hand through Draco’s hair, and it’s not like anything he could imagine, slipping through his fingers like silk, like the glowing threads of a memory. </p><p>Draco pulls back, suspicious. “Ginny?”</p><p>“No,” Harry says firmly. </p><p>“But—”</p><p>Harry grips the front of Draco’s robes and roughly draws him closer, silencing his protests with an unyielding kiss. And it’s like water breaking through a dam; the tension drains from Draco’s body like he’s taken off all his armor, leaning pliantly into Harry’s touch, his mouth melting like butter against Harry’s tongue. </p><p>It’s more than Harry could have hoped, had dared to dream. He burns from the inside out as Draco groans his name when Harry’s hands slide firmly down his sides, gripping him from behind. While never taking his mouth away from Draco’s, Harry walks Draco backwards until his legs hit the counter top, and Draco buckles in Harry’s arms, and Harry has to hoist him up almost limp onto the edge. </p><p>For a moment they break apart, and Draco’s eyes are lidded and dark. “Your glasses.” He reaches up and with trembling hands, removes Harry’s glasses, setting them carefully on the counter beside him. In the faint glow of Harry’s Lumos Draco’s face is a pale blur. </p><p>“But now I can’t see your face,” Harry says, brushing a hand against Draco’s cheek. </p><p>“You won’t need to.” Draco takes Harry’s arms and pulls him up, and they scoot back until Draco falls onto his back, dragging Harry down on top of him until they are kissing again, building a rhythm like a repeated name, like casting a spell over and over and over again. </p><p>Harry kisses Draco’s throat, sucks on the tender moving muscle that ripples under his lips. His fingers fumble under Draco’s robes only to find the long row of buttons on his starchy pressed shirt. </p><p>“These goddamn buttons,” Harry whispers, and Draco laughs, the sound echoing against the stone walls. With a smile Harry’s fingers start on the topmost button, resting in the swell above Draco’s delicate collarbone. </p><p>Suddenly the furnace roars to life, and Harry springs back, jumping off the counter and swiping his glasses on. Draco looks at Harry wildly, his mouth red and his hair sticking up in the back. </p><p>“Harry? Is that you?” It’s Lucy, coming from the pantry. Harry’s heart starts to pound, and he grabs Draco’s arm, pulling him off the counter. He crouches down and quickly scoops up the book, then follows after Harry. </p><p>Together they rush back up the tunnel and out into the hallways, breathing harshly and never slowing down until they come back to the doors of the Great Hall, hiding in a dark alcove narrow enough that it could have been the archway of a door, Draco’s back against the wall and their chests pressed up against each other. Harry can feel Draco’s breath in the scarce space between them. </p><p>They stare at each other for a long moment, before bursting into hushed laughter, Draco’s smile a warm crescent against Harry’s cheek. </p><p>“You need a shave,” Draco whispers, rubbing his cheek against Harry’s jaw, before biting the skin there. Harry hisses and nudges him away with his head, then ducking and kissing him hard so that his head hits the wall, but Draco only growls and wraps his arms more tightly around Harry’s waist, bringing him closer.</p><p>A loud clicking noise from afar makes them go still in each other’s arms. Harry pulls back, dizzy. Then he realizes what—who—is making that noise. </p><p>Draco does too, grimacing. “Snape.” Harry tenses in panic, his whole body tingling in alarm. He peeks out in the hallway, and sees in the distance the soft pinpoint of light from a wand. </p><p>“We better run for it,” Harry says.</p><p>“That won’t work, and you know it,” Draco replies. </p><p>“Then distract him. He won’t punish you.” And even to Harry’s ears he sounds desperate. </p><p>“What, and let you get away freely?” Draco asks angrily. </p><p>“He hates me Draco, you know that.” Harry hears the steps getting louder. He looks at Draco, and there’s an edge of disappointment in Draco’s frown. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Draco looks at him, then glances down the hall. Snape’s heeled shoes click louder and louder on the smooth floor and Harry holds his breath. </p><p>“I don’t think you are,” Draco says quietly, almost resigned, before stepping out into the hallway. He turns to Harry, who stands paralyzed in the alcove. “Run,” he whispers harshly. Harry doesn’t need to be told twice; he turns the corner and runs, leaving Draco behind. </p><p>He swears he can hear Draco’s voice, steady and calm even now.</p><p>“You see, Professor, I couldn’t sleep…”</p><p>Harry doesn’t look back. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“You would make a mighty Chaser,” Ginny says.</p><p>“But I’m very tall.” Dean ducks into the Portrait hole as if to make a point, smiling. </p><p>“That’ll only give you a better reach.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll try out next year,” Dean says easily. That’s the thing Ginny has found with Dean; everything is always easy. It’s part of what annoys her, which only makes her more annoyed for being annoyed about that. She should want someone easy, someone uncomplicated and adoring. </p><p>She should want someone that will want her for his own, like Harry said. </p><p>Harry. </p><p>She spots him across the common room, sitting on the couch next to Hermione, with Ron spread out messily on the ground by the fire. It’s their designated spot to hatch plans that nobody asked them to make. Ginny does not feel like listening tonight, or any night recently.</p><p>Not since... </p><p>“I should get going to bed,” Ginny says, once again ignoring that look on Dean’s face, that admiring look that harbors some confusion on the rejection. They have been talking for over a week and she’s yet to make a move or even suggest it. </p><p>Dean is patient, but he won’t wait forever. Ginny knows this better than anyone.</p><p>She awkwardly leaves him looking forlorn by the entrance to the boy’s dormitory, intending to pass the Golden Trio like she did the other night without a word. Just as she gets past the couch, however, Hermione calls her name. She stops reluctantly, turning around and looking at Hermione.</p><p>Harry continues to stare into the flames. Hermione looks worriedly between Harry and Ginny. Ron just looks confused. </p><p>“Ginny, why don’t you sit down?” Hermione asks nervously. “Harry was just telling us about the memories Dumbledore has been showing him. About Tom Riddle’s past.”</p><p>This makes Ginny wince, and she reluctantly sits down in the love seat beside them. She’s reminded of her horrible experience in first year with Tom Riddle’s diary. She remembers Harry dying from the Basilisk fang, and the way he looked at her as he told her to save herself. </p><p>Relieved, as if he had wanted to die, and it was finally happening. </p><p>She avoids looking at Harry, instead looking at Hermione expectantly.</p><p>“Well, Harry was saying…” Hermione begins, then chews on her bottom lip, glancing at Harry who resolutely looks into the fire. “Harry?”</p><p>And it’s like dragging Harry back to reality. He reluctantly looks at Hermione, then Ginny. When he notices everyone looking at him, Harry blinks slowly, then shrugs. </p><p>His expression is vague, but Ginny can see the darkness lurking beneath.</p><p>And she remembers the darkness in Harry’s voice, that night on the Astronomy Tower. That night when the world she knew both clicked into place and shattered before her eyes. </p><p>Harry’s face had been turned away from Ginny from where she was hidden, but Draco’s expression said enough. She knew that look, like staring at a brilliant star dying before your eyes, knowing nothing you could do would save it, but wanting to anyway. </p><p>
  <em> “You said the other day, that I’d be better off in Slytherin.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I only meant—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You were right,” Harry had said with that deadly calm. “I would have been better off.” </em>
</p><p>Ginny hadn’t meant to follow him, not really. But when she saw them, she knew. </p><p>She just knew. </p><p>“Tom Riddle was an orphan. Like me,” Harry says, looking at Ginny. His voice is cold, and Ginny suppresses a shiver. “Dumbledore took him under his wing.” He sounds sarcastic and bitter. This angers Ginny more than anything. </p><p>“He couldn’t have known,” Ginny says sharply. Harry looks at her in surprise. </p><p>“Tom stole from kids at the orphanage. He tortured people, Ginny.” But he doesn’t sound enraged about it, only flat and disdainful. She feels miserable. </p><p>“Sometimes people make the wrong choices,” Ginny says tightly. “And we give them a second chance. You would know, right?”</p><p>Harry looks at Ginny quizzically, and she silently curses to herself for pushing it. He doesn’t know she saw him that night. He doesn’t know she saw the look in his eyes and knew without a shred of doubt that Harry would never look at her like that. </p><p>He would only ever see Draco. And she had to keep his secret, because no one else would understand. No one else truly saw the darkness, the coiled green serpent in his eyes. </p><p>But she did. </p><p>Ginny sighs, seeing her path unfold like it always does in the things that matter. She knows how to put a brave face and soldier on. Make the right choice, not the easy one.  </p><p>“Look, Harry,” Ginny says gently, looking into Harry’s eyes. He stares at Ginny like he’s torn between apprehensiveness and indifference. “You don’t need to approve of all of Dumbledore’s choices. It would be dangerous to believe him a perfect being. But you need to trust him.”</p><p>She stands up, smiling at him. Hermione and Ron stay silent, watching the scene unfold. Harry carefully searches her face, but she knows he won’t find anything except her smile. </p><p>Ginny walks over to Harry, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “And don’t be ashamed to love him, Harry,” she says softly, only for him to hear. She straightens up and leaves to the girl’s dormitory before Harry can respond. </p><p>Because she saw him that night, looking at Draco. Those two boys, looking at each other. Two boys destined to hate each other; two boys destined to fall in love regardless. Perhaps because of it.  </p><p>One light and the other dark. Both alone. Ginny had known so painfully then.</p><p>Harry and Draco were destined to crash and burn, together. </p><p>She could only hope Harry would make it out alive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. September 2005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good evening, Draco,” Harry drawls. Draco sighs. <em> Not again.  </em></p><p>“Come spying on my Potions shop?” Draco asks. </p><p>“Why would I do that?” </p><p>It’s almost a test, and it infuriates Draco in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. He watches Harry slowly walk to the front desk, resting his hands—<em> pretty hands, </em>Draco remembers thinking once—on the dark wood. </p><p>Harry’s dark green eyes lock with Draco’s, and it’s like Sixth Year all over again. He’s as handsome as ever, dark hair curling over his ears, his skin tan from a long summer in the sun, a shade of stubble roughing up the ever polished Chosen One. </p><p>Harry rakes his eyes over Draco unapologetically, and Draco flushes. </p><p>“I’ve been here for quite some time,” Draco says coolly, “and only now that the Ministry has contacted me do you decide to pay a visit.” He pretends to examine his nails, then looks up at Harry, whose face has smoothed out in a skilled display of indifference.</p><p>“What a coincidence,” Harry replies, equally as cool and collected. They stare at each other, unmoving and silent, before Harry speaks again. “I’m actually in need of a potion that I understand you can make.”</p><p>Draco hides his surprise. “Which potion would that be,<em> Mr. Potter?” </em></p><p>At this Harry turns around, walking slowly but deliberately down the shop to a nearby shelf, stopping in front of the section of temporary mind altering potions. His hand reaches out, but does not touch, only hovering over one vial containing a smooth, violet liquid Draco knows only too well. </p><p>“Sleeping Draught,” Harry says quietly. He pulls his hand back, and turns to Draco. “But I’m afraid to take any more. You see, I was quite dependent during school, and I haven’t touched a drop since.”</p><p>“Still having nightmares?” Draco asks. Harry looks at him sharply. </p><p>“I thought perhaps you would have some expertise on the matter,” Harry says, ignoring his question. “Is there another potion…?”</p><p>Draco studies Harry’s face, almost expectant, like he knows that there is a potion but wants Draco to suggest it first. When he realizes what Harry is asking, Draco shakes his head before he even speaks. </p><p>“No,” Draco says firmly. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Draco—”</p><p>“Don’t call me that.” Draco sighs, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, his thoughts racing like pixies in his head. “You are asking me to brew an illegal potion, Harry. I will not do it. I will not risk any more for you.”</p><p>Harry flinches, and Draco wonders if he’s heard that before. “I will give you protection from the Ministry. Malfoy, please, I need this.” </p><p>“It’s impossible.” They both know it’s true. The Ministry’s tight regulations would sniff out the potion before he even begins brewing, and they would burn his shop to the ground. He would lose everything for a second time, and Harry would watch it happen again. </p><p>Harry’s fists clench at his sides, and his gaze flickers back and forth as he stares off into nothingness, like he’s trying to make a tough decision. After a moment, he stands up straighter, his previously tense face easing into a smirk. </p><p>“You’re right. It would be impossible for <em> you </em>to brew the potion,” Harry says, his smirk widening. Draco’s stomach drops. “But not for me.”</p><p><em> “No,” </em>Draco says harshly. </p><p>“Please, Malfoy, it would work. I know it will work.” Harry comes back to the front desk, leaning on it again and looking at Draco imploringly. Desperately. It reminds Draco of that night, the first night when Harry sacrificed Draco to save himself from Snape’s punishment. </p><p>When Draco looked into Harry’s eyes in the darkness of the alcove that night, Snape’s footsteps like a ticking clock counting down in the background, they seemed like a pair of glittering emerald stones, no, like a slithering snake with shiny scales ready to pounce, and Draco realized then that he was always going to agree with Harry. </p><p>He could only ever say yes to Harry.</p><p>Harry knows this too, that Draco will always give in, will always try to save him. That’s why he came in the first place. Harry grins smugly, and starts to walk away, and all Draco can do is watch him walk away. </p><p>“I will send you my address tomorrow night when you can come by,” Harry says at the door, already pulling his hood up over his head, shrouding his face in darkness. For a moment, Draco sees another face beneath the hood with that same smirk, and he goes very still. </p><p>Then Harry opens the door and leaves. </p><p>Draco stares at the space where he just was for a beat longer, before swiveling on his heel and disappearing into the curtains behind him. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco points to a dark smudge on the paper, almost like it was blotted out by the butt of a cigarette. Hermione leans in, then straightens up, sighing. </p><p>“Who do you think did this?” Hermione asks, sitting down and tying back her hair. She feels frumpy today, and worried. Rose woke up screaming with a fever and she and Ron had spent all night trying to lower it. </p><p>In fact, Ron must be at St. Mungo’s now. Hermione mentally reminds herself to send a quick note over after the meeting. </p><p>“It’s hard to say, though probably someone not too keen on the Ministry getting in,” Draco murmurs, taking out his wand and gently casting a wordless spell on the spot where the floor plan has been tampered with. A shimmer of red hovers briefly over the paper, before winking away. “Dark magic, but nothing complicated. I’m sure I can restore it.”</p><p>“That hardly narrows it down,” Hermione says, then smiles apologetically. “But thank you, Draco. You’ve been very helpful.”</p><p>“Of course,” Draco says, carefully stepping away from her desk. Hermione has noticed he’s more careful now than in school, as if he’s scared with any small movement he might upset someone. </p><p>“Can you work on them tonight?” Hermione asks, getting up again. With a wave of her wand, the floor plans roll up and magically packages them, the Ministry ensigma flaring brightly at the center with glowing strings wrapping around it. She takes it, and the spell fades.</p><p>“No,” Draco says quickly. </p><p>“Oh.” Hermione looks at Draco, startled. He blushes, frowning. </p><p>“I have an appointment tonight.” Draco avoids looking at Hermione. “But I can work on it tomorrow morning.” </p><p>“That’s fine,” Hermione says, holding out the parcel. “You can hold onto it tonight.”</p><p>Draco eyes the rolled up floor plan warily. “Are you sure?”</p><p>Hermione smiles, trying to hide her pity. The war never truly ends, after all. “Yes, I’m sure.”</p><p>With a hesitant smile and a nod, Draco takes the parcel gingerly in his hands. The magical binding glimmers momentarily, then fades. Draco nods again, then starts towards the door. </p><p>“Draco,” Hermione calls out, and Draco pauses, tense. Though they have gotten on better terms, there is still a gulf of awkwardness between them, as if neither wants to offend the other. </p><p>“Is there something wrong?” </p><p>“No,” Hermione assures quickly. “Well, yes, but not with you. It’s Harry.” Draco grimaces at Harry’s name, and stands stiffly by the door like he’d rather be anywhere else. Not for the first time Hermione wishes things were different. </p><p>“I hardly know him.” Draco lowers his eyes. “Perhaps Ron would know better.”</p><p>Hermione sighs. “He knows as much as me.”</p><p>“Ginevra?” Draco suggests. </p><p>“Oh, Ginny?” Hermione shakes her head. “She tried, but Harry just…”</p><p>“I wish I could help.” But he doesn’t look like it. He looks miserable.</p><p>Hermione almost lets him go when a memory, a moment, really, flashes through her mind. A harmless, mundane conversation that she can scarcely remember now passes through her mind, but it wasn’t that which she finds peculiar now. It was Draco, when they were back in school, must have been in Sixth Year, huddled against the wall with Pansy Parkinson. They walked past and she caught Harry looking at him, smirking, and she remembers her surprise that Draco was looking right back, with a small, private smile on his face. </p><p>All those years ago she had written it off as a trick of the light. </p><p>But something about that moment stayed with Hermione, for whatever reason. It has to be important. She feels the tingling sensation she always feels when the right answer is just beyond her reach. All she has to do is reach harder. </p><p>“Were you and Harry ever...friends at Hogwarts?” Hermione asks, hesitantly. She somehow can’t imagine it, but it’s worth a try. Draco flinches, then smiles tightly.</p><p>“Not in the least,” Draco says coldly.</p><p>Hermione bows her head to hide a satisfied smile. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She doesn’t move until the door opens and shuts closed. Then Hermione springs up, her mind revving like a machine, an engine, the wheels and cogs turning and fitting together rapidly, parsing and collecting together all the memories she has of Harry interacting with Draco.</p><p>There’s not many, but it will have to do. She makes a note to investigate the matter later in her Pensieve. </p><p>Because while Harry has always been an excellent liar, Draco is terrible. And he lied to Hermione just now, clear as day. </p><p>She just has to figure out why. </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>“But I don’t understand, darling,” Pansy says in her posh accent, lounging by the fireplace in black knee high stockings and an oversize green sweater that spells SLYTHERIN in silver thread. If she pinned her short, glossy black hair with green snake clips, she’d look just as she did in school. </p><p>Draco sighs, adjusting his tie in the mirror, a dusky silver the same color as his eyes at night. “What about this do you not understand, Pansy?” </p><p>“Well let’s see,” Pansy says sarcastically, examining her sharp black nails that glow in the firelight. “The boy who broke your heart is asking you to brew an illegal potion <em> at his place </em> and you haven’t even asked for payment? <em> Everything </em>about this spells disaster. Literally!”</p><p>“Relax, Pansy.” Though Draco himself feels none too relaxed. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he buttons the cuffs of his pressed long sleeve. Pansy elegantly slips off the couch and pads over to Draco, murmuring gently to let her do it, taking his cuffs in her hands and expertly buttoning them. Many people could not imagine Pansy being gentle, but Draco has witnessed her rare moments of nurture and knows how loving Pansy can be when she wants to. </p><p>“I’m just worried about you,” Pansy says, eyeing him seriously. “You know how much he hurt you last time. I just don’t want you to go through that again.”</p><p>“Nothing is happening this time,” Draco protests, but Pansy just smiles sadly. </p><p>“And you’re just as clueless.” Pansy kisses him on the cheek, then returns to her catlike pose on the couch, looking as effortless as ever. “Boys like Potter don’t usually take no as an answer, Draco. And that’s what you told him.”</p><p>“It wasn’t a choice for me,” Draco says in a low voice, trying to keep the bubbling anger and fear from all those years ago from rising up in his throat. He swallows, suddenly self conscious. “He forced me to choose, when I didn’t want to.”</p><p>“And he’s already forcing you to choose now, isn’t he?” Pansy asks, and her eyes are full of pity. Draco looks down, hating that she's right, and knowing it doesn't change a damn thing. “I really wish you would stay away from him.”</p><p>He looks up at her, and he knows his sadness is reflected in her dark eyes. “I can’t. I never will.” She nods, slowly, understanding him better than anyone else. She was there, after all.  </p><p>“<em> It will always be him </em>,” Pansy quotes, and for a moment Draco remembers the night he said that to her, the cold wind off the icy lake stinging his cheeks, the sheer drop from the Astronomy Tower seeming to end in a fathomless darkness in the deep winter night.  </p><p>“I’ll be back late,” Draco says bitterly. “Don’t wait up for me. And don’t worry either.”</p><p>He Disapparates before Pansy can respond.</p><p>When the room goes quiet, Pansy sighs, and speaks out loud though she knows he cannot hear it, in a voice so sorrowful and wary that no one would mistake her for a schoolgirl if they heard it. No, the war has aged her more than she likes to admit.  </p><p>“I’ll always wait and worry, Draco. Always.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. October 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re absolutely love sick, Draco,” Pansy says, watching Draco smiling to himself, blushing at what must be not so innocent thoughts about a certain Chosen One. “It’s disgusting.”</p><p>“Oh, stop,” Draco mutters, lightly shoving her. “You’re just jealous.”</p><p>“Jealous of what?” Pansy asks exasperated. “Honestly, Draco, you know I’m currently hooking up with the hottest boy in this damn school.” A few heads passing in the hallway turn towards her loud claim. </p><p>Oh Hogwarts, ever the gossip mill, Pansy thinks with fond sarcasm.  </p><p>Draco rolls his eyes. “<em> Blaise Zabini </em>is not the hottest boy, ask anyone—”</p><p>“Oh I know for convention sake everyone will say Harry Potter but anyone with eyes and a little bit of courage will say that Blaise is far superior in looks and personality,” Pansy says confidently, examining her long nails which today are painted a bright blood red for the start of the Halloween season. She smirks when Draco scowls. </p><p>“It’s not a competition,” Draco grumbles, then adds, “but I’d always side with Harry.” </p><p>Pansy feels that unfamiliar clenching in her stomach that she’s come to recognize as worry. She can see just how far Draco has fallen in such a short time, and she also knows he would rather die than hit the bottom. </p><p>Pansy’s very good at seeing the bottom, and for good reason; the only thing worse than a broken heart is broken trust. Her solution? Never trust anyone. </p><p>But Draco never had a reason not to trust those he loved. Pansy hopes he never will. </p><p>“Are you sure he’s not…” Pansy doesn’t even know the end of that question herself. Insincere? Two-faced? Lying? Experimenting? Joking? But she can’t say any of these; they will only hurt her relationship with Draco, and it’s the only thing Pansy has besides herself. </p><p>“What reason does he have to lie if we’re a secret?” Draco asks, confused. </p><p>Pansy could think of a million and one reasons off the top of her head, but scanning Draco’s face she quickly deduces he wouldn’t understand any of them. So instead she shrugs, saying, “I guess you’re right.”</p><p>Just then Draco tenses, his gaze latching onto someone in the distance, coming down the hallway. Pansy follows his gaze and sees Harry flanked by Ron and Hermione, both in a heated argument that Harry seems to be ignoring. </p><p>The classic Golden Trio in their natural habitat. Yuck. </p><p>When they pass by, Pansy sees Harry smirk at Draco, just a slight, insignificant movement of the corner of his mouth. Beside her Draco smiles a very small, intimate smile; the kind of smile passed only between lovers, like a secret message, a promise, even a kiss. </p><p>Draco’s too busy looking at Harry to notice Hermione narrowing her eyes at Draco briefly, before continuing to argue with Ron. </p><p>But Pansy sees it. </p><p>“You’ve got to be more careful, Draco,” Pansy says in a low voice. Draco wrenches his eyes away from Harry when he finally turns a corner and out of view, brows furrowing as Pansy’s warning registers. </p><p>“You’re just paranoid,” Draco dismisses, but he sounds a little less confident and a lot more desperate for it to be true. Pansy knows the feeling well, so she tries to sympathize.</p><p>She puts a hand on his arm, gently. “Draco, darling, listen to me. I will say this just once, and then we can never speak of it again.” His eyes darken to a slate gray as if he’s guessed what she’s about to say. She drops her voice to a whisper. “Be careful with Harry. Even if he loves you and trusts you, not everyone else will. I know the Dark Lord—”</p><p>“Pansy!” Draco exclaims in a harsh whisper, looking around furtively. She squeezes his arm tighter, and he returns his attention to her.</p><p>“—Please, listen, love. I know the Dark Lord has asked something of you. Something important, though I have no idea what, and have no wish to know for I’d be unable to help you and it would make me miserable. But I’d wager it’s dangerous, and best kept secret. So please, Draco, if you cannot stay away from him, I understand, but then at least be more careful. You must, Draco. Your life depends on it.” <em> I say this out of love </em>are the unspoken words Pansy does not need to say; he sees them on her face. </p><p>Draco stares at her silently for a very long moment, at first stunned but then gradually resigned, even grateful. Then he nods. </p><p>“Good,” Pansy says shortly. She exhales, then pats his arm and kisses his cheek. “Now, can you help me with my Potions essay? You know I’m hopeless in every subject except fashion and looking fabulous.”</p><p>Draco grins, clearly relieved to be changing the subject. He wraps an arm around Pansy, an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, probably one he picked up from Harry. “Unfortunately, those subjects are not taught at Hogwarts, though I’m sure if you tried hard enough Snape would raise your grade by a letter.”</p><p>Pansy shrieks loudly, half laughing and half indignant, “How dare you, Draco Malfoy! You sexist pig! You know he’d raise my grade <em> at least </em> by two letters.”</p><p>At this Draco laughs, and Pansy wishes she could bottle up the sound for later. She’s always been able to tell just by the taste of the wind if a storm was brewing, and Merlin knows there’s a dark and thundering one just on the horizon. </p><p>So all she can do is wait and worry. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco huddles up in the blanket, wincing when something sharp pokes his side. He twists and removes the branch from underneath. </p><p>“If you’d just let me use my Cloak to sneak into the dungeons we wouldn’t have to frolick in the woods like centaurs,” Harry points out. <em> Unhelpfully </em>, Draco might add, but he still smiles at Harry’s bravery, however stupid. </p><p>“Like I’ve said before, it’s too dangerous,” Draco says. “And besides, I like laying out under the stars. It’s very…”</p><p>“Cold? Uncomfortable? Dirty?” Harry suggests. </p><p>Draco rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “I was going to say sexy but go ahead and spoil the mood.” He wraps the blanket around himself tighter. “It is rather cold, though.”</p><p>“Come here.” Harry opens his blanket with his arms, and like with all things Harry-related, Draco can’t resist his welcoming embrace. Draco scoots over, fitting himself against Harry’s body, the heat already spreading through Draco’s limbs as Harry wraps his blanket around them. “There. Not so bad now, eh?”</p><p>Draco’s nose brushes against Harry’s, and he surrenders to a smile. “I guess not,” Draco mumbles, twisting his body to snake his arms around Harry’s waist, the center of the heat, resting his cheek on Harry’s unyielding chest. He’s reminded of how strong Harry is beneath the Gryffindor bravado, his muscles lean and wiry, the body of a Seeker and a fighter, quick and nimble and ready to pounce at a given moment. </p><p>Harry twirls the ends of Draco’s hair between his fingers. Another hand skates along his spine, brushing the soft skin below his hips that always makes his abdomen tense with a new pulse. It’s something Draco noticed about Harry these past few weeks, being his <em> friend </em> and all now<em>, </em>as Pansy likes to call them. He’s touchy and affectionate with Draco in an unexpected, reverent way, as if having his hand on Draco’s skin somehow means something more, something almost akin to a language. </p><p>A love language, Draco thinks, when Harry’s finger begins drawing meaningless patterns on his shoulder blade. </p><p>Draco never considered himself fond of physical affection; it wasn’t the traditional way to show love in his family. But he’s found that Harry’s warm touches, brief presses of the palm against his thigh or his back, simple touches, really, that do not suggest anything else, have almost a grounding effect on Draco, as if all this time he never knew he needed it so badly, someone to touch him like Harry does, to make sure he’s there.</p><p>To make sure he’s real and solid and not falling apart. </p><p>“Sometimes,” Harry says in a far away voice, “this feels like a dream, being with you. And then I go back to real life, and the nightmares.” </p><p>Draco stirs at his serious tone, and Harry’s arms tighten their hold around him. “That’s interesting, because for me it’s the opposite. With you I feel real, and the rest of my life is a nightmare.”</p><p>“I don’t deserve you,” Harry says, burrowing his face in Draco’s hair, sighing. </p><p>Draco pulls away, searching Harry’s eyes, but they are dark in the night, and Harry averts his gaze. “But that’s ridiculous. You’re <em> the Chosen One.” </em></p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Harry says coldly, and Draco flinches at the tone. “I hate it. It’s a curse, not a title. You’re the only one, Draco, that doesn’t see me like some god. You see <em> me. </em>You know me. You know I’m fucked up and you don’t get scared when I tell you how I feel.” </p><p>Draco doesn’t know what to say. A part of him warms at the thought that out of everyone, he’s the only person to really see Harry beyond his fame and his aloofness. But another, smaller part within Draco shies away at what he does see in the depths of Harry’s eyes, that prowling, slithering darkness within which chills him to the bone. </p><p>“How do you feel?” Draco asks. For a second he regrets asking, but Draco also knows he’s the only person that will listen. Harry stays silent for so long that Draco thinks he won’t respond. </p><p>Then he says in a quiet voice void of feeling, “Like I’m dying inside.” </p><p>Draco goes still, that familiar chill creeping up his skin. He ignores it, pulling Harry closer and kissing him. When he pulls away, Draco says with surprising honesty, “When I’m not with you, it’s like I’m already dead.”</p><p>“As long as I’m with you, I could never die,” Harry whispers, his eyes reflecting the warmth between them, before leaning in and kissing Draco again, shifting his weight so that Draco lies underneath him, Harry’s legs straddling his waist. </p><p>Harry plants feverish kisses along his neck, pulling Draco’s clothes and his own off hurriedly in between them, and then following the trail down his chest, across the delicate expanse of skin between his hip bones. With each kiss Draco’s body arches to meet Harry’s mouth, heat like he’s never known searing his skin, like a white hot band of pleasure that radiates and fragments into small gasps, eyes rolling back as the stars swing wildly overhead, his hands grasping fistfuls of grass beside him. </p><p>“Draco, Draco, Draco…” </p><p>Harry’s voice echoes in the night and Draco sends a desperate prayer up to the constellation of his namesake to make this moment last forever. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ginny pauses and listens. </p><p>Silence. Good. </p><p>Dean flashes her one last easy, sated smile before she creeps out of his four-poster bed, the curtains ruffling softly as she passes them.  </p><p>All her clothes save her underwear and robe are bundled up in her arms. She feels satisfied and yet restless, almost anxious. Dean has always made everything so easy for her, even when she made everything so difficult for him. </p><p>Ginny wishes she felt more grateful, but she only feels distant and troubled, like the world is turning too slowly and she’s running too fast and now she’s flying off the edge of the earth. </p><p>The dormitory is dark at this hour, a pale shine of moonlight filtering through a small window, the only illumination that saves Ginny from having to carefully cast a Lumos and risk getting caught.</p><p> She looks briefly at Harry’s bed, where she’s spent more time than she’d like to admit. It’s somewhat strange now to sneak up here and sleep in a different bed. His curtains are drawn tight. Ginny glances around, then tiptoes over to his bed. Just one look, one last look of Harry without him looking back. </p><p>She slowly pulls back the curtain just an inch. </p><p>Empty. </p><p>Ginny lets the curtain fall, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, hurries out of the boy’s dormitories. Before she falls asleep, Ginny prays. Not to any god or goddess, but to Harry, wherever he is on this cold night. </p><p>
  <em> Please be careful, Harry, at least for me if not for you.  </em>
</p><p>She keeps praying until she falls asleep, even though she knows with a damning certainty that Harry won’t hear it.</p><p>And even if he did, Ginny knows he’d never listen. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. October 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco appears on an apartment doorstep, a blue ward shimmering in front of the door, one hand gripping his briefcase and the other on his wand, just in case. The apartment complex seems modern and yet not overly ornate, the architecture and style subtle in its elegance, a sign of more wealth, not less; somehow Draco expected Harry to be living elsewhere. </p><p>Whatever. It’s not his business. Not anymore. </p><p>He smooths out his clothes that always get a little cramped after Apparating. Then he takes a deep breath and knocks. </p><p>A few seconds later the door swings open, and Harry’s on the other side, grinning. He’s wearing sweatpants and a loose fitting black shirt, and his dark hair is mussed like he’d just been napping. </p><p>Or doing something very different, which Draco does not want to think about. Draco slips his wand away. </p><p>“Draco,” Harry says as a greeting, “right this way.” He steps back to let Draco through into the foyer, which really is the living room, with a nondescript white couch in front of a sleek TV against the wall. </p><p>“Nice place,” Draco comments cordially, though it’s not really his taste. </p><p>Harry raises an eyebrow. “Hardly as nice as your manor.”</p><p>“I don’t live there anymore,” Draco says shortly and without explanation, knowing Harry will not stoop so low as to ask why and risk showing interest. He always did take care in how people saw him. </p><p>Predictably, Harry changes the subject, saying, “You’ll be working in the kitchen.”</p><p>Draco starts. “But won’t you need to cook?”</p><p>“I don’t cook.” When Draco looks at him in surprise, Harry frowns and looks away. “I usually have dinners with Ron, since he eats alone often when Hermione works late at the Ministry. And I go to a lot of luncheons and have a coffee for breakfast.” The way he phrases it makes him look charitable, but Draco just thinks he looks lonely. </p><p>“Oh.” Draco reminds himself that he doesn’t care about Harry’s life anymore, and should stop asking questions lest Harry gets the wrong idea. “Lead the way, then.”</p><p>Harry half smiles, and Draco has to hide his own, as it was a sort of silly thing to say; the kitchen could be seen from the door, with pristine white cupboards and shiny marble counter tops. They walk over together, Harry sweeping his arm wide in a mocking gesture of reveal when they reach the tiled floor. </p><p>“Will you have enough room?” Harry asks, looking around the small square space and minimalist design. </p><p>“Quite.” Draco suddenly feels awkward, unsure of where they go from here. Harry scratches the back of his neck, as if feeling the same way. </p><p>“So when will this be done? Maybe by tomorrow night?” Harry asks. </p><p>“You’re joking right?” Draco wants to laugh and scream and strangle him. “This potion takes weeks at best. It’s a very complicated and dangerous process, not to mention the risks I’m taking acquiring all of the very illegal ingredients. Honestly, Potter, did you do any research?”</p><p>Harry looks stunned. “But I thought you could, I don’t know, speed up the process?”</p><p>“You are as ignorant as ever,” Draco says angrily. “I shouldn’t even be here. I shouldn’t do this at all, let alone for you, of all people. But I’m doing it because I know how—nevermind.” Draco turns to hide the hot flush creeping up his cheeks. He sets the briefcase he brought on the counter top, made of black leather with silver clasps. </p><p>“You know how much I need it?” Harry asks sharply. </p><p>Draco shuts his eyes briefly. “You don’t need it. But I know how much you think you do.”</p><p>“It’s the only way and you know it,” Harry says darkly. Draco turns, and tries to hide the pity that he feels. Harry hates pity above almost all else.</p><p>“The damage this potion will do is permanent, Harry. And you won’t be the same. You won’t be <em> you,” </em>Draco says, turning around, and he curses himself for how earnest he sounds. </p><p>Harry smiles and it’s twisted with bitterness. Draco’s heart pangs. “But that’s exactly what I want. I don’t want to be <em> me </em>anymore. I’m sick of it.”</p><p>“It’s not right,” Draco says, and it comes out choked. Merlin, he has to pull himself together. “And for you of all people to do it.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Harry asks angrily. </p><p>“You’re the Chose One! I know you hate it but that still means something. But people—<em> children </em>, Harry—look up to you. They need you. This potion is an escape, not a solution.”</p><p>“I don’t want them to look up to me!” Harry shouts. </p><p>“Well you don’t have a choice!” Draco shouts back. “We don’t always have a choice!”</p><p>Harry’s eyes flash. “That’s rich, coming from you.”</p><p>Draco gasps, like his words were a sword that speared his chest, straight through the heart. He feels like crying. “How dare you—” </p><p>“You left me, Draco!” Harry yells, his voice trembling, with rage or despair Draco cannot tell. Maybe it’s both, or maybe it doesn’t matter. “I chose you and you threw it all in my face—”</p><p>“You gave me no choice!” Draco screams, and his eyes burn hot with tears. </p><p>“Just because it was not the easy choice doesn’t mean you didn’t have one.”</p><p>“Easy?” Draco asks in disbelief. “Easy? You’re not the only person who had to deal with shit in life. You’re not the only person who has suffered. And you have people that love you and you toss them aside like they mean nothing to you. Have you ever thought about how much you made <em> me </em>suffer?”</p><p>“Made you suffer? You’re the one who betrayed me! I lost the only good thing in my life, the only thing I loved—” </p><p>“And I lost everything,” Draco says quietly. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t going to work. I should go.” </p><p>Harry seems to calm down at that, closing his eyes. “Please don’t go.” His voice is small and tired. “This will work, I promise. We just...we shouldn’t talk about the past. Soon I won’t remember it anyway.”</p><p>Draco nods slowly, his body heavy like he’s sinking, a strong current pulling him to the bottom of a dark sea. “Right.”</p><p>Looking at Harry in so much pain and knowing he’s part of it, that his memories of Draco will always be tinged by darkness and death, make Draco wish he could comfort him, make it right, kiss him until Harry can’t remember why he’d ever hated the sight of him. </p><p>“Well, I won’t disturb you any longer,” Harry says, looking anywhere except at Draco. “Feel free to come and go whenever you need to.” With one last look around, Harry walks out of the kitchen and goes upstairs, leaving Draco alone. </p><p>He sighs and opens his briefcase, casting a quick <em> Accio </em>to retrieve his cauldron and a few preliminary ingredients, all of which fit thanks to an Extendable charm. </p><p>Their argument has ripped open the wound Draco has long thought closed. But sometimes deeper scars leave their marks hidden well below the surface. </p><p>And sometimes they never truly heal. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Hermione sits down next to a Hermione ten years younger. It’s disconcerting to see how much she has aged. How much has changed, since her days at Hogwarts. </p><p>She’s clearly in the Potions classroom, but Professor Slughorn hasn’t arrived yet. Hermione stands up and walks around, looking at all the familiar faces, trying to forget those that died in the war. Younger Ron sits between younger Harry and Hermione. </p><p>Somehow younger Harry looks the most different and yet the most similar to his older self. Hermione scans his indifferent, almost bored expression. Her younger self reprimands Ron for not tying his tie correctly, and a flash of irritation passes over Harry’s face, before smoothing to his careful aloofness. It hurts Hermione to see it more than she’d like to admit. </p><p>Still, she knows he does love them, in his own way. </p><p>Despite herself, she focuses on Ron again, his childish frown at Hermione’s admonishment softening to a fond shake of his head when younger Hermione looks away. Hermione smiles, startled, at the clear look of love on Ron’s face. How did she ever miss it?</p><p>The doors open wide, and she frowns, having expected Professor Slughorn. Instead, Draco Malfoy trudges in with his usual pride and contempt, sitting next to Pansy in the middle table on the left side of the classroom. </p><p>She watches Harry carefully, but he makes no movement signaling he even noticed Draco’s arrival. Younger Harry stays stoic and still, and Draco whispers intently with Pansy, whose eyes flicker over to Harry almost too quickly for anyone in the memory to notice. </p><p>But Hermione is not in the memory, and she notices. </p><p>“Ten minutes late,” younger Hermione says, cutting Harry a slightly worried glance. For a moment Hermione forgets why she would have been worried about Harry, but then she recalls Harry’s break up with Ginny that wasn’t really a break up because they were not together to begin with. Perhaps that’s why, but somehow Hermione doubts it now. But what else would she be worried about, then? “Honestly, it’s outrageous.”</p><p>Younger Ron rolls his eyes. “Less class time, I’m not complaining.”</p><p>Harry stays silent, but that isn’t unusual. </p><p>Suddenly the door opens again, and this time it is Professor Slughorn, bustling in with an anxious smile, sweating slightly, and muttering apologies as he walks up the aisle to the front of the classroom. He pats his forehead with his handkerchief. </p><p>“Sorry, students, I was just talking to Professor Dumbledore about...about...well, it doesn’t matter what, let’s get to the lesson!” He smiles anxiously and then turns around, fiddling with a few textbooks on his desk. </p><p>Younger Hermione narrows her eyes, much to the pride of Hermione watching the memory unfold from beside Slughorn. Harry’s mouth twitches, but otherwise he does not react to the mention of his father, though Hermione supposes Harry would argue he’s not his father in the slightest. Hermione has always disagreed, but never pushes it. </p><p>Despite the certainty that no one can see her, standing up in the front of the classroom twists her stomach. Hermione pushes the discomfort away and refocuses on the memory at hand. </p><p>She studies Draco again, noticing now the dark circles under his eyes, how limply his blonde hair falls over his forehead, and the rumpled uniform that Hermione has discovered only recently would be uncharacteristic of him. </p><p>Draco glances at Harry then, his face very serious, but his gaze subdued, almost thoughtful. Hermione doesn’t understand. She looks at Harry, but unsurprisingly he’s not much help, staring at the table in front of him, seemingly lost in thought. Ron and her younger self start playing footsie under the desk, bickering about something. </p><p>Then Slughorn turns with a large book in one hand, and addresses the class. “Today we are learning about illegal potions. Why do potions become illegal? How do they become illegal? And if we have time at the end of class I will touch upon some illegal ingredients as well and their usage.”</p><p>Interesting. Illegal Potions was only a chapter in their textbook, hardly relevant at all, considering they were illegal. Hermione scans their faces for reactions. </p><p>Younger Hermione sits erect and focused, one hand holding a quill and the other smacking Ron in the back of the head to pay attention. Shockingly, Harry has shifted forward in his chair, eyes alert and almost burning with intensity, locked on Professor Slughorn and drinking up every word. </p><p>Draco has gone deathly pale, staring at Harry with an odd, yet almost familiar expression Hermione can’t quite place. What on earth happened between them, Hermione wonders, to elicit such strong reactions?</p><p>The lecture begins, and nothing else out of the ordinary occurs. Slughorn chatters on and on, following the textbook orderly, and the students dutifully take notes. Or at least some of them, Hermione thinks, watching Ron twirl his pencil and sneak discrete glances at younger Hermione. </p><p>It’s an entirely typical day. Hermione doesn’t remember why she thought this memory would be helpful. Clearly she made a mistake. As the lesson comes to a close, Hermione decides to leave, feeling defeated. </p><p>Just then, Harry raises his hand. Hermione pauses, along with younger Hermione, who frowns and stops taking notes. </p><p>Slughorn calls on him, flustered at the interruption, and especially more so because it’s Harry Potter. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”</p><p>Hermione watches younger Harry curiously. “Do you know of a potion,” Harry says lightly, “called the Sad Nightingale?”</p><p>“Well, yes. But that’s a very dangerous potion, Harry. Wherever did you here about it?” Slughorn asks, flabbergasted. Even Hermione and Ron are looking at Harry with similar perplexed expressions. Hermione remembers her shock that Harry had heard of a potion that she hadn’t. </p><p>“I came across it in a book,” Harry says quietly, “in the restricted section.” </p><p>Slughorn flinches beside her, then chuckles nervously. “No doubt, no doubt. Very illegal, that potion. Banned centuries ago.”</p><p>“Could you tell us a little about it?” Harry asks innocently. </p><p>A clamor of wood screeching on stone whips Hermione’s attention over to Draco, who’s standing up, his body rigid and tense. She looks over quickly at Harry, but while he has gone very still, his expression remains closed off. </p><p>“Pardon me, Professor,” Draco says tightly, “but class has almost finished, and this potion is not on the syllabus. I think my classmates will agree with me that we would much rather hear the material that will be on the exam.”</p><p>“Right, right, of course…” Slughorn mutters, startled at Draco’s adamancy. </p><p>“Please, sir,” Harry interjects with a charming smile that Hermione knows first hand is hard to resist. Slughorn hesitates, but Hermione knows he will cave. “It will only take a minute.”</p><p>“Very well,” Slughorn says, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He clears his throat, and Draco sits down, flushing. “The Sad Nightingale. A permanent mind altering potion invented year 1433 in Rome, Italy. It was banned when several wizards and witches...took their lives from the side effects.”</p><p>“But what did the potion do, professor,”  Harry asks earnestly, as if he had not heard that people had died from it. </p><p>“Oh, of course, yes.” Slughorn nods vigorously. “The Sad Nightingale works on memory. You need only drink it once, and all the pain and suffering from your life disappears.”</p><p>“How could that be deemed illegal, sir?” Harry interjects.</p><p>“You mentioned side effects?” Draco calls out. Even younger Hermione turns to look at him, puzzled. Just a moment ago he had seemed against the topic. </p><p>Harry cuts Draco an angry glance, the first emotion Hermione has seen from him the entire class, but he looks at Slughorn expectantly. </p><p>Slughorn looks between Draco and Harry anxiously. “Yes, the side effects. Well, you see memories are very tricky things. Imagine memory as a thread, and each memory connected in an elaborate knot. By taking away the pain and suffering, you snip away threads and loosen the knot, sometimes leaving the person unable to comprehend who they are. Many go mad because of this, despite being left with only pleasant memories.”</p><p>“But have all of them gone mad, sir?” Harry asks, with that laser focus intent that has always slightly terrified Hermione. </p><p>“Merlin, Potter, isn’t it enough that some of them have lost their minds?” Draco says sharply. Harry ignores him, but his mouth tenses into a line. </p><p>“No,” Slughorn says reluctantly, “not all of them. A few have been able to live without such...side effects, but they are never quite the same afterwards.”</p><p>Draco throws his hands up. “Honestly, this is ridiculous. Of course it's illegal. Who would want to live like that?”</p><p>“Maybe someone who can’t escape their own suffering,” Harry shoots back tersely. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, would you?”</p><p>“This is quite enough,” Draco says, almost choked, standing up and gathering his things. He ignores Pansy’s hand on his arm and storms out of the classroom. Hermione watches Harry close his eyes briefly, before straightening in his seat. </p><p>Slughorn struggles between a smile and a frown. “Well, I, uh—class dismissed.”</p><p>Younger Ron shakes his head as he looks at the doors slamming shut, stunned. “What a nut, that Malfoy, am I right?” He looks to Harry, but he’s barely paying attention, shoving his textbook carelessly in his backpack. Ron frowns when Harry shoves past him, striding determinedly out of the classroom. </p><p>Ron looks wildly after him, and younger Hermione’s brows furrow.</p><p>“Mrs. Granger? Is this a bad time?”</p><p>Hermione surfaces from her Pensieve, thoughts clouding her head. She knows this is the memory, somehow, the last piece to the puzzle, but nothing made any sense, and if anything, she’s more confused than before. </p><p>She turns, pats down her hair, and straightens her suit. Draco stands near the door, the floor plans in hand. Hermione smiles, though all she can see now is a younger Draco, looking at Harry thoughtfully in a Potions classroom. </p><p>“No, please, come in. I was just looking over a memory,” Hermione says, motioning for Draco to come forward. He places the parcel on her desk, and with a wave of his wand, it unrolls.</p><p>“The dark spell was covering a basement,” Draco says quietly, pointing to a section of the paper that had been previously burned. “I strongly suspect there will be illegal magical artifacts hidden there.” </p><p>Hermione nods energetically, her mind naturally filtering through the necessary next steps to coordinate the raid. She draws up her calendar and list in the air with her wand and jots a note. </p><p>“I’ll have a comprehensive plan by tonight. I’d love for you to look it over, of course, and offer your expertise,” Hermione says, rolling up the floor plans and storing it, then trudging up the stack of paperwork that will have to be completed. She stops when she notices Draco staring at her.</p><p>He says quietly, “You should run for Minister of Magic.”</p><p>The comment surprises Hermione, and she stops ruffling through the papers to look at Draco. She doesn’t quite know what to say. Has the thought passed her mind? Well, yes. But to actually <em> run </em>for Minister...She’s still so young, and there’s so much to do on the ground after the war, and then not to mention Rose.</p><p>“Well, I don’t know.” Hermione blushes. “Thank you, I suppose.”</p><p>Draco shakes his head gently. “I’m not trying to just flatter you, Hermione. I truly believe the country needs your leadership and genius.” He bows his head slightly when Hermione fails to respond, practically speechless, a small smile on his face. “If that will be all, I should get going. Pansy will start to cook if left alone too long, and she’s a special type of bad in the kitchen.”</p><p>Hermione laughs unexpectedly, a smile spreading across her face partly because of his compliment, but mostly because this is the first time Draco has called her by her first name. </p><p>“I’ll see you soon, Draco.”</p><p>“Good bye, Hermione.”</p><p>When she’s alone, Hermione’s smile fades, and her mind returns to the memory, turning over every expression and every word she saw. Something wasn’t right in their argument, which at the time she had simply dismissed, writing it down to their boyhood rivalry. </p><p>But now Hermione sees that there was something between them that she had overlooked. Something she had always missed, something she cannot name without the rest of the sentence, without the rest of the story. </p><p>No, not something. </p><p>
  <em> Someone. </em>
</p><p>Hermione knows exactly who she needs to talk to. But she sighs irritably, crossing her arms, because there’s just one small problem.  </p><p>This someone won’t be in London until Christmas.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. October 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco stirs the potion slowly as Harry’s arms wrap around his bare waist, his chest warm against Draco’s back. A smiling mouth curls itself against Draco’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve always been excellent at brewing,” Harry murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you have always been excellent at drinking them,” Draco replies slyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry chuckles, kissing the sensitive skin on his neck. “Do you think Slughorn will notice that a couple ingredients are missing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it were Snape, definitely. But Slughorn won’t be the wiser, don’t worry,” Draco says, briefly pressing his hand on the side of Harry’s face. He feels the edge of a smirk against his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it when you scheme.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco puts down the ladle and turns around, curling his arms around Harry’s neck and kissing him. He’s sandwiched in warmth, the fire boiling both the cauldron and his back behind him and Harry’s body and mouth and hands leave a blazing warmth in its wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls away when the potion begins to bubble, turning back around and lowering the heat with a quiet murmur. Harry walks away, laying down on a blanket that they had draped on the floor. Draco almost laughs at how ridiculous he looks in just his orange and red striped boxers, on the floor in the Potions classroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now tomorrow in class I won’t be able to think of anything except you,” Draco says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raises a playful brow. “But don’t you always think about me during class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny, Potter.” Draco takes a vial and pours the thick, violet liquid inside, then stoppering it. He sets the vial on a nearby stand, then strides over and sits beside Harry, stretching out his legs, which are clad in his dark silk pajama pants. Something about brewing a potion without pants felt wrong, but Harry insisted on keeping the shirt off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s finger traces a path across his chest, then down his navel, and Draco is suddenly glad to be shirtless, his body responding to his touch alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I watched a memory today,” Harry says, sounding dazed, staring enraptured at Draco’s pale torso, though it’s not much to look at. Not like Harry. “Dumbledore showed me it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you need the Sleeping Draught?” Draco asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry says, then sighs. “Well, yes. I wanted to spend time with you, but I also need the Draught to sleep tonight.” He pauses, and Draco turns on his side, taking Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Light and dark, like always. “He has been showing me his memories of Tom Riddle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco suppresses a gasp. “But why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not quite sure,” Harry says honestly. “But that’s how it always is with Dumbledore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t understand how he could have kept you in the dark,” Draco says. “He practically raised you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks away angrily. “No, he didn’t. Lucy raised me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The House Elf?” Draco asks, surprised. Then he remembers what she had said, in the kitchens that night. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve known Harry since he was just a boy, you know. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco had suspected then, but Harry was not ready to confide in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until now. Draco hides a pleased smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Dumbledore was always away, on missions or whatnot. When I got old enough to understand, I would ask him to take me with him. He always said no. It was always too dangerous,” Harry says, an almost childish resentment in his tone that startles Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So he never…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He treated me like a project, not a son. And once I knew about my parents and how they died, I realized he had no choice. He hadn’t wanted me. He never wanted me.” Harry doesn't look Draco in the eyes, and it pains him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that was true at the beginning, but he still kept you safe, Harry, all these years. I’m sure he loves you,” Draco says gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he loved me,” Harry says, choked, “he would have told me.” His head hangs low, and his black curls cover his face. Draco’s heart aches for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could help you,” Draco whispers, smoothing back Harry’s dark locks. Bright green eyes shiny with tears stare back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If there’s a potion that can make all the pain in my life disappear, then you could help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is,” Draco says, and the moment the words come out he regrets them. Harry goes tense, and sits up, bringing Draco up with him. “But it’s illegal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it called?” Harry asks in a low voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stares at Harry, those eyes that only a moment ago were bright green are dark and storming. He swallows uneasily. “The Sad Nightingale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can make it, Draco—” Harry begins desperately, reaching for Draco’s hands, but Draco scrambles away, standing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Harry. I can’t. It’s too dangerous and there are side effects and it’s illegal for a reason,” Draco rambles, backing up as Harry advances, hands clasped together in front of his chest like he might kneel on the floor and beg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, I need this. I just want to feel lighter, happier.” Harry grasps Draco’s shoulders, forcing him to stop moving away. He looks both angry and hopeful, and it terrifies Draco more than he would ever admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It changes you,” Draco says quietly. “I can’t do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lets him go, turning around with a snarl. “I can’t live like this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can, Harry, please—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand!” Harry whirls around, his eyes a flash of red, and Draco freezes, his limbs going numb. “It’s killing me! He’s killing me!” Then his face spasms as if in pain, and he crumples to the floor, his head in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco feels simultaneously broken for himself and for Harry, and he wonders if this is love, if pain will always lace through the joy. He crouches down in front of Harry and reaches out a hand, but when he touches his shoulder, Harry flinches away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stares in disbelief. He doesn’t understand. “My love—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Harry bolts to his feet, and backs away from Draco, a wild look of panic in his eyes. He hastily grabs his Cloak and then practically runs past Draco, swiping the vial of Sleeping Draught on his way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he closes the door, he looks back at Draco, and his eyes gleam with the same red as before. “I’m a monster, Draco,” he says harshly, “don’t forget it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he’s gone, all the terror and pain and doubt he’s been harboring for the past year, all the timid love and trust and hope he has just begun to build on top, all of it wells up in his chest and in his throat and in his eyes, and he slumps over, sobbing into his sleeve to muffle the noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you, Harry,” Draco whispers angrily, between sobs. “I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione watches Ginny read a Quidditch magazine out of the corner of her eye. Her slim freckled hands flip through the pages with ease, pausing to skim an article or examine a picture. When she reaches the end, Ginny closes the magazine and tosses it on the coffee table, sighing. Here’s her chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ginny,” Hermione says casually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I’d ask about you and Dean,” Hermione says, then blushes. “You know, you’re like a sister to me. I don’t have any siblings, so I’m not very good with all this. But I’d love to talk if you want to.” She’s not lying, not exactly. Hermione has never mastered the art of lying so well as Harry. Instead, she’s decided that half-truths work just as well, if not better, because you can almost convince yourself that it’s true as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny smiles. “Of course, Hermione. You’re like a sister to me, too. Growing up with all brothers is tough sometimes. Can’t exactly go bragging about my sex life, can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione laughs, despite her mind spinning through a list of different ways to approach the conversation. “So how </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This brings out the first real grin she’s seen from Ginny in a while. Not since she stopped seeing Harry. She leans forward, and says in a hushed voice, “He’s very good at, you know, going </span>
  <em>
    <span>down there.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you let him!” Hermione exclaims, and Ginny shushes her with a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Ginny says, amused. “It’s wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you in love with him?” Hermione asks, almost eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merlin, no!” Ginny exclaims, bursting into laughter. “Can you imagine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I thought you wanted to date him,” Hermione says, feigning puzzlement. “After all, that’s why Ron was in a state a week ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I just told him that to get back at him,” Ginny explains flippantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re not going to date Dean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s smile fades, and she studies her nails, square and plain and cut close to the bed so as not to scratch herself during Quidditch. “I guess I will probably end up dating him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t sound like you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated,” Ginny says with another sigh. She rubs at her eyes, and Hermione notices for the first time how exhausted she looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has it something to do with Harry?” Hermione asks gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny buries her face in her hands and groans. “Yes and no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess,” Hermione says wryly, “it’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I’m just so worried about him all the time,” Ginny admits, sitting up and tying her hair back in a messy bun. She suddenly looks older, a flash in her eyes hardening to solid stone, unmovable and weary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m scared,” Ginny says, looking Hermione straight in the eyes. “Of him. He terrifies me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s voice drops to a whisper. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One moment he’s caring and loving and happy, and then the next you look in his eyes and he’s a monster.” Ginny shakes her head. “I just don’t understand him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right then a piece of Hermione, a hopeful naivete from her childhood, dies inside her heart. She had hoped all the times she caught that dark red gleam in his eyes, that flatness in his voice, that it had been just her imagination, her anxiety and her fears manifesting themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Ginny noticed them too, then she wasn’t imagining them. They were real, and it terrifies Hermione just as much as it does Ginny, and she understands just a little more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ginny,” Hermione says, “do you know why Harry and I became friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This catches Ginny’s attention, and she shakes her head, puzzled. “I thought they just realized without you they would have died a hundred times and so made sure to make friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny,” Hermione says with a roll of her eyes. “But no. I became friends with Harry first, separately. It was Harry who convinced Ron to be nice to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That idiot!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all water under the bridge now,” Hermione reassures her. “It was in first year. Ron scarcely acknowledged me, and if he did, it was to make fun of me. But Harry never did. He found me crying in an alcove one day, and asked me why I was sad. I told him it was because people were making fun of me for wanting to free the House Elves. I was sure Harry was going to think it ridiculous, but he didn’t. He took my hands and looked me in the eye and said never stop fighting, that House Elves deserve to be freed, and that if I didn’t do it, no one would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Ginny whispers, stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione smiles sadly. “He’s not a monster, Ginny. There’s good in him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wish he would believe it,” Ginny says, right before the common room door opens and Harry and Ron come in, bantering lightly with each other. Hermione watches Ginny look at Harry, and she realizes she’s got it all wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny does not look at Harry like she’s heartbroken. She looks at Harry like she would let him break her heart if it was what he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Hermione can feel a hole in the picture. She sees a blind spot, looking between Ginny and Harry, who frowns when he sees Ginny, looking down at the ground. But Harry has always been secretive. How will Hermione know which secret is the key to unlocking the truth?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione wants to investigate, but at the same time...Ron comes over, plopping down ungracefully on the couch beside her. She rolls her eyes, a smile reluctantly forming on her face. She ignores Ginny’s smirk, which quickly drops when Harry sits down on the chair closest to hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Ginny,” Harry says, looking at her impersonally, then turning to Hermione. “‘Mione.” She tries to read his face, but he’s as closed off as a wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry was just telling me </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Malfoy has been up to something,” Ron says with a shake of his head. “Honestly he just won’t drop it. It’s like he’s obsessed!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny stands up suddenly. “I’m going to bed.” Then she’s gone, leaving Hermione and Harry staring after her, his expression troubled. That’s when Hermione realizes it’s not Harry that’s hiding something, but Ginny. All this time and it was right in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what on earth could she be hiding?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione? Did you hear what I said?” Ron asks, brushing a hand against her arm. She looks down at her arm and then back at Ron, and they both blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Hermione will leave the investigating alone, for once. Her heart has fled elsewhere, and she’s not sure she’ll get it back any time soon. After all, if it’s a secret Ginny is hiding from her, then Hermione trusts it’s for a good reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now all she can do is hope that Ginny and Harry will figure it out on their own. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. October 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ginny squints at the sun setting on the horizon in a blaze of bright blood orange and a hazy red glow. The color reminds her of so many things she loves. Her hair, Gryffindor, autumn, Butterbeer, and fresh fruit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she can add another. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Morocco. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you upset about?” Luna asks airily, sitting beside her on the grass. She had been making tea inside their tent, and passes a mug over to Ginny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny glances at her, taking the mug. “I’m not upset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always like to look at sunsets when you’re upset.” Luna says it like a fact, something that has always attracted Ginny, that clear cut instinct. “Though it is a beautiful sunset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s hands tighten around her mug, relishing in the warmth as the day cools down into night. “I saw Harry before we left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” And she probably does see, although not quite like everyone else with those large blue glasses shaped like hearts perched on her nose. Ginny loves hearing Luna describe the world from her eyes. It’s like looking around through a kaleidoscope and understanding what each color means. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m worried about him.” Ginny doesn’t know how to put it into words, how she felt arguing with Harry in his apartment, feeling that familiar longing to save someone who only knows how to be broken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard Draco Malfoy is working with the Ministry,” Luna says. Ginny’s reminded of how perceptive Luna can be, how sharply on the nose she guesses the social dynamics around her, even when it seems like she pays more attention to nargles than humans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ginny first started seeing Luna, something about the other girl made Ginny quickly entrust her with the secret she had been harboring since Sixth Year. Seeing Harry and Draco on the Astronomy Tower, knowing the tension between them that once could have been animosity but that now could only be called by another name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a secret she kept even from Harry himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry wasn’t happy to see him, and that’s putting it lightly,” Ginny says, watching the sun slip further below the horizon, a dark purple seeping into the orange and red rays. She takes a sip of tea. “I wish I knew what happened between them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds rather sad, if you ask me.” Luna leans her head against Ginny’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Harry ended things? Or Draco?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna hums, thinking. “I’d guess both of them ended things in their own way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish he’d confide in me,” Ginny admits. “I feel like I’ve given up everything for him, and he can barely say thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love has nothing to do with thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny turns and kisses Luna’s blonde hair. “What would I do without you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget to look up at the stars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny stares at Luna, her clear blue eyes, so direct and open and honest, and she knows her path has been laid out in stones the color of those eyes, like a river bed of glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s go look at the stars, shall we?” Ginny leads Luna back inside the tent, across the quaint living room and kitchen where they set down their mugs which have already gone cold, and back towards the bedroom, their bed a soft cushiony white like fluffy clouds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Harry and Dean, who always liked to hurry and to press and to grasp, their kisses rough and shallow mixed with hot panting, when Luna and Ginny make love it’s slow and sweet, deep and searching, tantalizing in its patient pace, marked by murmured I love yous and quiet gasps and eyelids fluttering shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their legs tangle together as they kiss, and Luna’s hair splays across the pillows like a halo of golden thread. Ginny flips Luna on top of her, lifting the yellow and blue print dress that she just loves seeing her in, and grasps Luna’s breasts in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Luna breathes, as if she hadn’t been expecting it. Ginny’s gaze skates over Luna's closed eyes and parted pink lips, the pale silky neck, down the soft stomach and her bare navel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luna,” Ginny says as she pulls Luna forward by the hips, spreading her legs apart, “the stars.” Then she brings Luna down on top of her mouth, holding her steady at the waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above her Luna moans her name, her back arching, and points her wand up at the ceiling of their tent. Suddenly the tent is gone and stars explode above and around and below them, and Ginny looks up at the constellations keeping her all together as Luna unravels against her and she holds Luna tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment Draco Apparates into Harry’s apartment, he knows Harry is not alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strains his ears, and catches a light giggle, and Harry’s voice low and teasing. Draco’s chest constricts, and he struggles to breathe. He should leave right this second, and save the humiliation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But another side of him desperately wants to know, and to hear, and to feel that burn of shame that’s like a slap across his face, the sting almost pleasurable in its bright pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly sharp clicking noises come from upstairs and then a long legged, high heeled woman with straight brown hair and smoky eye make up comes down the stairs. She winks at Draco before walking out of the door. The door slams shut behind her, followed by the telltale sound of a Muggle car unlocking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Interesting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment later and Harry’s walking down the steps, shirtless and with mussed hair and an obvious love bite on the side of his neck. Draco can’t help but remember kissing him there, the rough stubble on his jaw scraping Draco’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Draco,” Harry says, “didn’t think you’d be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said to come by whenever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nods, clearly not wanting to start another argument. “Of course, yes, whenever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’ve been busy,” Draco comments, unable to help himself, before turning and walking towards the kitchen, where a Concealment charm hides all of his equipment. Harry trails after him slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that.” Harry stops on the other side of the kitchen counter, watching Draco open his briefcase and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Accio </span>
  </em>
  <span>a few ingredients. “It was nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing?” Draco asks, curious despite it all. “Your neck doesn’t quite spell nothing to me.” Harry blushes, a hand involuntarily touching the side of his neck. “Wrong side.” He drops his hand, rolling his eyes but smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told her not to leave a mark,” Harry says, as if that’s any explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks away. “How’s the potion going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still don’t like answering questions, I see,” Draco says, stirring the ladle in the potion which is still a light, watery grey color three times clockwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still like asking them, I see,” Harry counters, and fixes him with a challenging stare when Draco locks eyes with him. They stay silent for a minute, then Draco looks away. He busies himself with measuring out a powder and then crushing leaves and then stirring some more, with Harry watching him steadily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a Muggle,” Draco says when he finishes mincing a stalk of peppermint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, she is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that on purpose?” Draco asks, though he already knows the answer. Harry shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose,” Harry says. “Met her at a Muggle club a week ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question hangs in the air and Draco heats up, regretting that he asked such a personal and dangerous question. They meet each other’s eyes and Draco wonders if Harry is remembering those nights at Hogwarts, under stars and tucked away in empty classrooms and hiding behind tapestries. Draco wonders if he’s remembering that night, specifically, when he was still angry at Harry for asking Slughorn about the Sad Nightingale, the night that changed everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night he knew he was in love with Harry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s just fine,” Harry says, almost awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smirks. “I’ve had better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco wonders if they are flirting, and then wonders if he should stop. “With Ginevra?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Ginny for the last—” Harry stops when he notices Draco smiling. “No, not Ginny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s smiles wavers. “Did you ever see anyone else? You know, after…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco wants to say but can’t, the word lodged in his throat. He stares at the cauldron in front of him, at the potion brewing that will take Harry away from him for good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harry says in a low voice, and Draco looks up at him, stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have any better than…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>again. Draco swallows as Harry’s eyelids lower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” His voice is rough, and Draco feels dizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you ever love anyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stares at him in a loud silence, and it’s like he’s suddenly awake, bright green eyes devouring Draco simply by looking at him. “No,” Harry says hoarsely. “It was always you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time it’s Draco’s turn to be speechless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can speak, the fireplace that is so small Draco had not noticed it before roars to life, and Ron’s voice shouts from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry! Rose is going ballistic! Help!!” his voice drowns in the crackling of flames as the firecall ends. Harry stands up, avoiding Draco’s searching gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should go,” Harry says quietly, then he goes upstairs, leaving Draco alone with his words echoing in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was always you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It will always be him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco twists in his bed, barely aware of the heat of his body, the awkward angle his arm rests, his consciousness floating between dream and memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry’s green eyes stare up at him through his lashes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin is damp with sweat, and he wonders why everything concerning Harry walks the line between nightmare and fantasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say it again,” Harry says darkly, commanding. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes memories bend and morph to fit current fantasies, your newest, deepest desires. Draco knows on a basic level that Harry should look younger, with a rounder face, and a dark tinge beneath his eyes from a lack of sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his memory of that night contorts in his dream tonight to fit his wants, and the Harry that kneels in front of him now is older, more chiseled, a sharper jaw that frames an aged, wearier face, a face that has loved and lost and fought and died. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hate you,” Draco says, his voice trembling from desire or anger, he can’t tell anymore. He wonders if he ever could tell, with Harry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This Harry has a love bite on his neck and he takes Draco in his mouth without hesitation, as if he hadn’t heard Draco say anything. Draco’s fingers slip through Harry’s dark curls.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hate you I hate you I hate you…” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco bolts upright in bed, breathing hard. He blinks profusely, then falls back on his pillows. He hears Pansy rummaging in the kitchen, probably making her morning tea like the posh British witch she is. The sounds of clinking cups and water boiling grate against Draco’s nerves, and his dream fades in the morning light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because no matter how much the dream might resemble a certain memory, it was still just a dream, and dreams never survive in the light of day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco groans and covers his head with a pillow. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. October 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry runs after Draco, barely registering the shouts and protests as he shoves his way past students exiting the Potions classroom and milling about in the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just catches a flash of blonde hair turning the corner at the end of the hall, and Harry puts on a burst of speed. Draco looks behind him, sees Harry coming after him, and barrels down the hall even faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry follows him up two flights of stairs, barely making the last landing when the staircase begins to turn, leaping off the last step. Draco continues up a familiar metal, spiral staircase, his steps loud and echoing until he reaches the highest platform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop following me, Potter!” Draco shouts, striding over to the edge. His knuckles grip the railing. Harry approaches slowly, a wave of deja vu washing over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Draco, listen to me,” Harry says steadily. Though he still feels angry from Draco’s outburst in Potions, seeing the pain bracing his shoulders upsets him more than he expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco whips around, almost snarling. “The last thing I want is to listen to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly—” Draco breaks off in a strangled laugh that morphs into a growl. He strides over to Harry and pushes his shoulders, and Harry stumbles a step back, too surprised to retaliate. “I hate you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wants to say that Draco doesn’t look like he hates him, but doesn’t. Instead he says, “I don’t blame you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” Draco asks. “Oh right, to persuade me to make that damn potion and lose you! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to understand—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I do!” Draco cuts him off, exasperated. He throws up his hands as if to tell Harry to look around. “I would give my entire fortune and more to make all the pain in my life go away. But I would never sell my soul, and that’s what the potion does, Harry. You might as well be dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll be dead and happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Draco says. “You’d be dead. And I’d be miserable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry feels the words like a blow to the chest. “You’d be better off without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain he feels from that single word is acute, but somehow Harry almost likes it, prefers it over any compliment or profession of love. “I’m a monster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can be,” Draco says coldly, raising an eyebrow. Harry takes a step closer to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco goes silent, staring at Harry. “But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry drops to his knees, fingers quickly unbuckling Draco’s pants, and he hears Draco breathe in sharply. He looks down at Harry with an almost dazed look. Harry slips down Draco’s briefs, then looks up at him through his lashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say it,” Harry says in a low voice. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows he wants—no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span>—to hear him say it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco whispers, “I hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate y—oh!” Draco groans, threading his hands in Harry’s hair and pulling hard. Harry takes him deeper, a thrill akin to falling off a broom, hurtling in the air with the ground rushing up, humming throughout his entire body. “I hate you I hate you I hate you…” Draco chokes out over and over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Draco pulls Harry up and kisses him roughly, leaving Harry battered but wanting more, dragging him over to the nearby wall. He presses himself up against the wall face first, then looks behind his shoulder at Harry. With a yank of his hand, Draco presses Harry against his back, and Harry’s hands automatically rest on Draco’s smooth, bare hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco whispers harshly, the words almost spat in Harry’s face. He doesn't have to be asked twice. After making quick work of his belt and pants, Harry sidles up behind Draco and pushes him against the wall, his body straining in their position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco…” He feels so many different sensations at the same time he doesn’t know how to begin, how to savor the treasure in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up.” The words smack Harry back to reality, and his body jumpstarts like an engine and takes over, his hips finding a rhythm that forces his head to droop forward, his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, their hands clasped tightly, almost painfully together, and Harry tastes Draco’s skin in his mouth, that mix of salty and sweet, like a tangy lemon, juice dripping on a hot summer’s day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry groans and collapses against Draco, bright spots pattering across his vision. As he tries to catch his breath, Draco’s silky hair brushing his cheeks, Harry realizes plainly and simply that he is in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands tremble as they release Draco’s waist, which he sees is now marked with bruising red fingertips. Draco turns around and leans back against the wall, chest rising rapidly, small blonde curls sticking to his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stare at each other, as if seeing the other boy for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t mention the potion again,” Harry says, a hand reaching up to cup Draco’s cheek. “Let’s just forget about it.” Draco nods, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Harry leans in and kisses him gently, softly, with none of the rage and passion from before. Draco responds languidly, almost pliantly, melting in his arms and against his mouth, his skin burning to the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulls away first. “We should put some clothes on before the Astronomy class comes in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughs, then Draco laughs, and for once, he thinks everything might be okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dearest Draco,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope your studies are going well. You know how much your father and I trust you will still keep up with your academics, despite the current circumstances. In fact, now more than ever do we need you to be as sharp in the mind as possible. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your father wishes to remind you what is at stake if you should fail. I am sure I do not need to elaborate more on that. Since you have left, the house has been very full, and yet to me, my love, it is always empty when you are not here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please be careful, my most beloved. And if you ever find yourself in need of aid, do not be afraid to ask Severus Snape. His bond to our family is unbreakable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are so young, and yet you must face the biggest hardship of your life already. Sometimes I wonder if I have failed you as your mother, my son, the light of my life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not send a reply, and burn this letter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your Mama</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stares at the letter, frozen between anguish and relief, rereading the sparse message until he can pick apart the hidden meanings, the words his mother would not dare say in front of his father. Then he angrily waves his wand, and the letter bursts into flames and settles into a pile of ashes in his palm. He watches them drop to the common room floor like a cloud of dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been so caught up in his secret affair with Harry that he had almost forgotten his task. <em>Forgotten</em> is not the right word. <em>Willfully ignored</em> would be better. Draco’s cheeks burn in shame and anger. One half of him knows he should be doing better, but the other half wishes it were all different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates his life. His family, the path they chose. Harry Potter, most of all. They all make him miserable, and yet without them, who would he be?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hate you.”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco recalls the Astronomy Tower, the look in Harry’s green eyes commanding him to say it. Like he enjoyed the degradation, and Draco relished the power. How much of that was a lie? How much of it was truth?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say it again.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And he did. He said it over and over again, because he could, because he wanted to, because Harry asked for it and when Harry asks for something he always gives it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I hate you I hate you I hate you…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>which really just means </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you I love you I love you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco loves Harry Potter, and it’s more damning than any task the Dark Lord could give him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows the line between love and hate is thin, and that after walking along it too long you’re bound to fall on one side or the other, but for now he lets himself hope. Draco stands up and determinedly strides out of the dungeons and towards the Room of Requirement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets himself hope that he can have Harry and his family and never have to choose. But even as he hopes Draco can feel the line that he’s walking grow ever thinner beneath his feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>* * * </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Ron pulls the blinds around his bed and his snoring levels out, Harry puts his glasses on and takes out his Map, shining a dim </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lumos </span>
  </em>
  <span>on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scans the names routinely. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco Malfoy </span>
  </em>
  <span>is in the dungeon common room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Albus Dumbledore </span>
  </em>
  <span>paces his office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horace Slughorn </span>
  </em>
  <span>walks past the greenhouse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Severus Snape </span>
  </em>
  <span>is not on the map at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry almost closes the Map when he notices Draco’s footsteps moving out of the dungeon and along the corridors. He follows his name to the second floor, and then the third. Is he going to the Astronomy Tower? Why?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his name disappears altogether. Harry sits straight up in his bed, heart beating fast. Then he throws the covers off and slips into his shoes, grabbing his Cloak. As he reaches for the door to leave the dormitory, the door to the boy’s bathrooms opens, and Ginny walks out. They both go still, looking at each other. She looks just as startled to see Harry as he is startled to see her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny looks pointedly at the hand that Harry has on the door knob. He lets it drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” Ginny asks, almost sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just going to the bathroom,” Harry says, trying not to wince at how lame he sounds. Ginny raises her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With your Cloak?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks down at his left hand clutching his Invisibility Cloak. “Oh, I thought it was my blanket.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny rolls her eyes. “Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to the bathroom,” Harry repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Ginny agrees, again, sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” Harry asks indignantly. Ginny looks truly perplexed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, remember?” Ginny says slowly. “Honestly, haven’t you noticed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shrugs. He’s had other things going on.  Now that she mentions it, though, he does vaguely remember Ron asking something about Dean and Ginny, but he hadn’t payed much attention. Harry doesn't know how to feel about it yet. “Not trying to make me jealous, are you?” Harry jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny looks at him sadly. “No, I’m not.” Then she walks towards the door, kissing Harry’s cheek as she passes him. “Good night, Harry. Go to sleep.” The door closes behind her like an ending that always signifies a beginning, a moment of bittersweet change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stands by the door a moment longer, before turning and going back to bed. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. October 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Really if Tony Blair keeps quiet on Israel occupying Lebanon he won’t be reelected, that’s for sure.” The man next to Harry whose name he’s already forgotten keeps talking about current Muggle affairs which mean nothing to him. </p><p>“Naturally,” Harry says, hoping he doesn’t sound bored or sarcastic. The man is handsome, after all, with fluffy brown hair and blue eyes, and a nondescript, pretty face. It’d be a shame to miss his shot for a night of fun just because of some stupid Muggle politics. </p><p>“People just won’t stand for it.”</p><p>“Certainly not,” Harry agrees. </p><p>“But what do you think?” the man asks, blinking his blue eyes at him. Harry grimaces, staring into the fruity drink the man bought him exactly thirty two minutes ago as if the pineapple chunks swimming within might help him out. </p><p>“Honestly, I’m not very interested in politics,” Harry finally says, which at least isn’t a lie. The man looks startled, but not upset. </p><p>“Then what are you interested in?” he asks. </p><p>Harry looks around the bar, as if he might find inspiration. As he scans the faces at the opposite side of the bar, he notices a certain blonde getting chatted up by a very buff, very shirtless man with dark buzzed hair. </p><p>Immediately he only has eyes for one person. </p><p>“Henry—”</p><p>“It’s Harry,” Harry interrupts, then slides off the stool. “And I have to go.” He ignores the man’s protests and makes his way around the bar until he’s standing in front of Draco and the buff man, who is about to buy Draco a drink. </p><p>“I wouldn’t bother,” Harry says loudly, and the man turns around, puzzled and annoyed. When Draco sees Harry his eyes go wide, and then he blushes. “He only likes the taste of wine that’s too expensive for you to buy him.”</p><p>“And who’s this punk?” the buff man exclaims gruffly, but before he can advance on Harry, Draco places a light hand on his muscular arm, and shakes his head. “Well if it’s what you want,” he grumbles. Then he leaves, his mouth twisting in irritation as he passes Harry, before melting back into the crowds milling about the center of the bar.</p><p>Harry and Draco look at each other silently after he’s gone, before Harry sidles up beside Draco at the bar, his pulse thrumming in his veins like it used to before a Quidditch game. He notices a light smudge of kohl under Draco’s eyes, and the tight black shirt that pronounces his paleness in the same way a white marble statue gleams in a dark room. </p><p>“Another Muggle club?” Draco asks lightly. </p><p>“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry replies coolly. “Would you really have gone home with that man?”</p><p>Draco cuts a sharp glance at Harry. “What does it matter to you?”</p><p>At this Harry goes silent, then he calls over the bartender. “Two shots of vodka.” Draco raises his eyebrows, and Harry shrugs. </p><p>“And what was all that about me only drinking expensive wines?” </p><p>“It’s true enough. I just forgot to mention you have a penchant for vodka,” Harry says, and Draco laughs. The sound is not delicate or musically enchanting by an means, but it makes Harry dizzy as if intoxicated nevertheless, a little like the invincible feeling you get after drinking Liquid Luck. </p><p>“I guess I wouldn’t mind a few shots. Feels like I’ve been working non stop what with that bloody potion you have me making,” Draco says, then narrows his eyes. “Has this been your move all along? To get me so exhausted that I go to a bar and you corner me there?”</p><p>“My move?” Harry echoes, his heart suddenly pounding like a Bludger trapped in his chest.</p><p>Draco smiles lazily, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it?”</p><p>“Thought about what?” Harry asks in a strained voice. Draco leans even closer, his mouth brushing Harry’s cheek as he whispers in his ear. </p><p>“Fucking me, of course.” Then Draco leans back, struggling to keep straight. </p><p>Harry looks at Draco in amazement and terror. “Are you drunk?”</p><p>“Let’s just say he wasn’t the first fellow to try and chat me up,” Draco says with a smirk, and now Harry can definitely detect a slight slur in his voice. Just then the bartender places two shots of vodka in front of them. Harry waves Draco’s reaching hand away, downing both of them himself. </p><p>“I should get you home,” Harry says, standing up. </p><p>“No!” Draco exclaims, throwing his hands around Harry’s neck, as if that could somehow stop him. “Pansy will be sleeping. I can’t wake her, I promised.”</p><p>“Anywhere else you can sleep?” Harry asks, trying not to pay too much attention to how Draco’s body pressed against his sends an icy shot of flames through his veins. </p><p>“Don’t you want me?” Draco’s voice is small and wavering. A hand slides down Harry’s side and rests on his hips, a finger teasingly skimming under the hem of his pants. Harry almost shudders, biting his lip hard until he regains his focus. </p><p>“I can’t lie to you, Draco,” Harry says with a horrifying honesty and relief, “I’ve wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you at the charity ball.” Harry sighs, pushing even the thought away. “But it’s too dangerous.” </p><p>Draco lowers his eyes, frowning. Then a small smile curves on his delicate pink mouth, and it takes all of Harry’s self restraint not to kiss him right then and there. “It can be a secret.”</p><p>“I thought you didn’t care about that secret anymore?” Harry asks carefully. </p><p>Draco looks away. “I lied.”</p><p>“Ah.” Harry holds Draco tightly under one arm, and walks them away from the bar. </p><p>“I think I’d be ashamed of it, a little,” Draco says thoughtfully, as if Harry weren’t there at all. <em> Ashamed? </em>His words hurt Harry enough to stop walking, leaning against a nearby wall, but he finds the pain welcome, almost necessary, like taking a cold shower in the morning is both excruciating and yet the only way to wake up. </p><p>“Ashamed?”</p><p>“Not of you,” Draco corrects quickly. “Of me.”</p><p>“What do you have to be ashamed of? You’re not talking about being a Death Eater, right? Because everyone knows you didn’t have a choice,” Harry says adamantly, and Draco stares at him in surprise.</p><p>“I did have a choice,” Draco says slowly, sounding almost sober. “Not an easy one, that’s for sure. But I had a choice. You always have a choice.” He pauses, looking down. “I’m not ashamed of those choices Harry. I’m ashamed of our secret. Of letting myself be kept a secret.”</p><p>“I see,” Harry says quietly. He lifts Draco again, and they walk out of the bar and behind the building, waiting for a few stray Muggles to disappear. “Hold on, Draco.” A hand squeezes his arm reassuringly before Harry braces himself for the dizzying Apparation. </p><p>With a loud crack and tumble, Harry and Draco stagger in the middle of his apartment living room. Harry leads Draco over to the couch, where he immediately lies down.</p><p>“Harry, please,” Draco whispers. He reaches his arms out, as if to beckon Harry, and Harry bends over the side of the couch to try and pacify him. When Draco’s hands find Harry’s arms, he grasps them tightly and pulls, and the momentum brings Harry on top of Draco. </p><p>“Draco,” Harry warns, but it’s no use. Draco’s hands are already weaving in his hair, and their lips collide in a confusion of knees slipping between legs, hands sliding between skin and fabric, their bodies entwining with such force and desperation it’s like Harry is back in Sixth Year lost in a moment he knew would never last. Draco's mouth is warm and soft and everything he remembers it to be—</p><p>Suddenly Harry wrenches away, scrambling from the couch and Draco’s warm, addicting embrace. “No, no, no.”</p><p>Draco tries to stand up and follow after Harry, but he sways the moment he’s on his feet, and Harry rushes over to hold him steady. “Thank you,” Draco says quietly, but he looks dejected. </p><p>“We can’t, Draco.”</p><p>“Why not?” Draco asks angrily. “I know you want to.”</p><p>“It’s not about what I want to do,” Harry says gently, rearranging himself so as to shift more of Draco’s weight on himself. “It’s what I should do.”</p><p>“Since when did you give a damn about what you should do?” </p><p>“I always gave a damn, Draco.”</p><p>“Then stop.”</p><p>Harry laughs despite the conversation. “I can’t do that. And you’re very drunk.”</p><p>“And if I was sober? Would you fuck me then?”</p><p>Harry breathes in sharply. “Merlin, Draco.” He starts to move them towards the stairs, but once they get to the first step, Draco sinks to the ground with all of his weight, pulling Harry onto his lap and kissing him hungrily, his mouth the sweet taste of tequila. Harry knows he should pull away but Draco’s mouth opens so wet and wanting, and all Harry has to do is slip his hand down—</p><p>“No!” Harry backs away violently, shaking his head. “Draco, this is bad. This is bad. You’ll regret it tomorrow, I know it.”</p><p>Draco laughs coldly. “Regret you? No. I have plenty reason to regret you and I never have. What makes you think I’ll start now?”</p><p>“Things are different now.”</p><p>“Because I’m not the enemy anymore? I’m not forbidden?” Draco suggests harshly, hugging himself tightly. Harry turns away, unable to look at him. </p><p>“Because now I don’t have any excuses,” Harry says quietly, then he turns back, his face steeled into indifference. Draco stares at him, speechless, his mouth open. “You should go to sleep.”</p><p>Draco nods dumbly, and let’s Harry lead him up the stairs and into his bedroom. The moment Draco’s head hits the pillow, he falls asleep, silently as Harry remembers, and with a small frown between his brows. Harry allows himself one last look before going back downstairs to sleep on the couch.</p><p>If he’s learned anything tonight, it’s that he still can’t resist Draco no matter how hard he tries. And oh how he’s tried. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco wakes up alone. </p><p>He sits up, stretches, scrubs his face, and then freezes. Memories of the night before, which had melted with his dreams, rise up in front of his mind in a tequila tainted blur. Harry kissing him like his life depended on him. Harry saying that everything is different now. </p><p>With a weary sigh, Draco gets up, ignoring the pounding in his head, which aches in its heaviness. For a moment he feels so stupid, because Harry would do all that and then leave him in bed without a note. </p><p>Then he hears the coffee machine come to life with a loud hum, and he almost smiles. </p><p>Draco goes downstairs, hyper aware that he’s still in his clothes from the night before. Merlin, what he’d do for a shower. He needs to get back home, desperately. </p><p>Home.Draco almost groans aloud. Pansy is going to <em> Avada Kedavra </em>him to next Monday for this. </p><p>Harry looks up at him from the section of the kitchen counter that is not being used by his potions equipment. He’s smiling, but the dark circles under his eyes and the way his curls stick up from one side suggest he didn’t sleep that well. </p><p>“Good morning,” Harry says, passing a mug of steaming coffee over to Draco, who takes it gratefully. “Sleep well?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>Harry stares at him, and then turns back to his coffee. </p><p>“What...what happened last night?” Draco asks hesitantly, gripping his mug tightly. Harry winces.</p><p>“You don’t remember?” he asks carefully. Draco can’t decide if Harry sounds sad or hopeful.</p><p>“Bits and pieces,” Draco says, then pauses. “I can remember...the bar, and coming here. It gets a little hazy then, but I remember...we kissed.”</p><p>“That’s all?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Harry raises an eyebrow, and Draco blushes. “I remember us kissing twice.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“Well I know we didn’t do more than that,” Draco says irritably, then looks away, reminding himself not to sound too invested. “I remember you said something, though.”</p><p>Harry goes still. “And what would that be?”</p><p>“You said things were different now.”</p><p>“Yes,” Harry says slowly, without looking at Draco, “I did say that.”</p><p>“But I can’t remember why,” Draco lies. He watches Harry take a measured sip of his coffee and carefully place his mug on the counter. Then he turns towards Draco, smiling vaguely. </p><p>“I just said things were different now because of my public persona. Imagine what people would say if they knew I secretly dated a Death Eater.” </p><p>The words hit Draco’s gut like a punch, and he has to bite his lip to keep from crying. <em>He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it. </em></p><p>“I’m a former Death Eater, you know,” Draco says quietly, trying to control the slight tremor in his voice. Merlin, he needs to leave. A minute longer with Harry and he won’t be able to keep himself together. </p><p>“You never stop being a Death Eater,” Harry says coldly, and his voice sounds so different than last night, like two different Harrys are trapped in the same body, one light and one dark.</p><p>Draco looks away to hide the tears that well up in his eyes. He looks at the clock above the couch, and gasps. </p><p>“I have to be at the Ministry,” Draco says in a single breath, and without waiting for Harry to say another word, he Apparates. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Hermione glances briefly at her watch before turning around, ready to find out what’s taking him so long, when Draco pops into existence in the middle of her office, coffee mug in hand, looking like he just rolled out of bed.</p><p>“Well, good morning!” Hermione exclaims loudly. </p><p>Draco winces. “Apologies. I ... slept in.”</p><p>Hermione glances at his black shirt which clings to his skin, and the dark jeans and slightly heeled boots. She raises an eyebrow. “A fun night?”</p><p>This makes Draco flush a bright red. “Something like that.”</p><p>“Maybe this is too personal a subject,” Hermione says hesitantly, “but I do consider us friends.” Draco smiles, surprised. </p><p>“Me too.” He looks down at his clothes, and grimaces. “I had a bit too much to drink and—let’s just say I didn’t wake up in my own bed. But the moment I saw the time I rushed over here.” He looks at the mug of coffee in his hand, frowning. “Clearly.”</p><p>Hermione laughs. “Well, we all have those days! Or had them, at least, in some way.” She suddenly recalls the passionate nights with Ron before they got married, when they took on the Ministry together by force, a few years after the war, wounds still fresh, but love still bright and shiny, tumbling from bars drunk and giggling into beds and kissing, kissing, kissing without breathing until their lips were sore...</p><p>Now their love glows in a different way, but Hermione wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. But sometimes she does remember those nights with a little nostalgia. </p><p>“So,” Hermione says, smirking, “you’re into those one night stands? I admit they are much less messy than relationships, trust me.” She thinks of Rose spitting up on her bib, and sighs fondly at her double entendre, however silly. </p><p>Draco’s mouth opens, then closes. “Well, you see, I'm not really. Into one night stands, that is.”</p><p>“Oh? But then are you dating someone? I hadn’t heard…” Hermione trails off when a flash of pain briefly twists Draco’s features. </p><p>“It’s complicated.”</p><p>“Is it someone I know?” Hermione asks, but when Draco’s eyes widen in alarm, adds quickly, “But you don’t have to tell me, of course.” Though it's too late; Hermione has already started combing through a list of people they both know. She comes up with nothing, and now is burning to know who. </p><p>Draco looks torn between wanting to confide in Hermione and also wanting to keep it to himself. Something tingles Hermione’s memories, like a feather brushing against her neck, and she decides to press just a little more. </p><p>“You can trust me,” Hermione says, and Draco hesitates. </p><p>“Well, it’s—”</p><p>The door slams open, and Hermione and Draco both jump. She silently curses whoever it is that interrupted them, and then sees it’s Harry, and smiles despite herself.</p><p>“Oh, Harry!” she exclaims brightly. Harry smiles back at her, then turns to Draco, who immediately begins to blush. </p><p>“I believe you have something of mine,” Harry says, still smiling that perfect charming smile. Hermione watches the scene in fascination, this upside down world of two former schoolboy rivals interacting years later, and it's like every color has switched and the ground has become the sky. </p><p>Draco hands over his mug. Then Harry bows his head, and leaves, but not before Hermione catches the edge of a smirk on his lips. She watches them share one last look that puzzles her even more, her mind slow and hazy like she’s swimming underwater. </p><p>When Harry’s gone, Draco clears his throat. “So, how did the raid go?”</p><p>Hermione snaps her attention back to the present, shaking off her half formed thoughts. She’s very close to piecing it all together, but there’s still a few missing links. </p><p>“Oh, it went well! You were right about that basement.”</p><p>“If I’m honest, it wasn’t my idea,” Draco says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I showed my flatmate, Pansy—you remember her from school?—the floor plans, as she had been family friends with the former owners. She's my best friend. I trust her with my life.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s fine, I trust your judgement, Draco.” Then Hermione pauses, something snagging at her attention. Oh yes! The memory with Draco that had so stumped her. Pansy was with Draco, then. She had always assumed they had been dating, but then she'd heard about Pansy and Blaise. Hermione’d bet a good Galleon that she knows something. “And how is Pansy?”</p><p>Draco lights up, smiling. “She’s brilliant. The CEO of a fashion line for witches in business that like to dress fashionably and comfortably, but don’t want to spend too much.”</p><p>“That’s so nice to hear. Does she make pantsuits by any chance?” </p><p>“Oh yes, that’s one of two things she’s famous for, actually.” </p><p>“And what’s the other thing?” Hermione asks. Draco blushes, and stays silent. “Well, what is it?”</p><p>“She's famous,” Draco says with a ghost of a smirk, “for her lingerie.”</p><p>This time it’s Hermione who blushes. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. October 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you think she’s alright?” Ron asks, watching Hermione dancing in the snow ahead of them, nearly toppling dangerously to the side. Ron seems to Harry to be half paralyzingly worried about Hermione and the other half shamelessly in love. Of course, Harry would never tell Ron that. </p><p>Some things have to come in their own time. </p><p>“Yes, Ron,” Harry says, trying not to sound annoyed. After all, it is about time that they both realize what is inevitable. Ginny had always joked about them being as blind as bats. Maybe a little innocent push in the right direction won’t hurt? “You should make sure she doesn’t trip and fall in the snow, though.”</p><p>Ron nods his head vigorously. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll just…” He gestures awkwardly over to a now singing Hermione, blushing when Harry raises an eyebrow, then hurries over to her. Harry rolls his eyes, and decides to leave them be. Perhaps he can buy something sweet in the meantime.</p><p>A figure up ahead emerges from a pub, looking around with all the suspect signs of someone wishing not to be followed. Harry tenses when he recognizes the blonde hair under a warm cap. Draco pulls his cap lower over his face, then walks quickly down the street. Without a second thought Harry follows him. </p><p>Draco weaves seamlessly through the crowds of students milling about Hogsmeade, his grey robes inconspicuous in the dreary weather, and if anyone notices him, they quickly get out of his way. It takes Harry more effort to pass people, as many call his name and want to strike up a conversation. </p><p>“I need to go,” Harry cuts them off with a smile which they can’t help but return with a little confusion as to why, “another time we’ll talk.” Then he just catches up to Draco’s deliberate steps that turn down a quieter street. What is he up to?</p><p>Draco takes one last look behind his shoulder—Harry quickly ducks in an alleyway—before slipping into a public girl’s restroom. After making sure no one sees him, Harry follows after him, quietly creeping through the tiled archway. Inside Draco stands in front of the mirrors, a velvet box laying on the counter next to the sink. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Harry asks, and Draco jumps, cursing, then relaxing when he sees it’s Harry. </p><p>“Merlin, Harry, you scared me.” Draco narrows his eyes, tensing all over again. “Did you follow me?”</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question,” Harry says. He points to the velvet box that looks like some type of gift. Something about it feels off though, when Harry looks at it, like a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. “And what’s in that box?”</p><p>Draco looks at it anxiously, then quickly slides the box under his arm. “Nothing. A present for someone.” He avoids Harry’s searching gaze. “Really, you should go.”</p><p>“You’re lying to me,” Harry says with a strange calm he does not feel, and he walks towards him, grabbing the box easily from Draco’s unsuspecting arms. </p><p>“Don’t!” Draco shouts, reaching after him, but Harry twists away from him. “Don’t open it, Harry.” </p><p>“Why?” Harry asks, though he could probably hazard a guess. Even the thought of Draco doing such a thing makes his stomach twist nauseatingly. “Tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>“I can’t, Harry. I have to. You wouldn’t understand,” Draco says angrily. He looks furious, but also on the verge of tears. “I have to do this. You just wouldn’t understand.”</p><p>“Oh really? Try me.”</p><p>“I can’t tell you. You have to trust me, Harry.” Draco walks towards Harry slowly, stretching out his hand. “Just give me the box.”</p><p>Harry smirks. “Come and get it.” Draco lunges, and Harry darts around him, but he realizes his mistake too late. He walks backwards towards the far end of the restroom as Draco corners him into the back wall, right next to the last stall. When Harry tries to make a run for it, Draco uses his wider wingspan to block Harry from escaping. </p><p>“Stop, I’m serious!” Draco shouts, and his hands are trembling. He takes the box from Harry’s hands with a quick motion, gripping it to his chest. </p><p>“And I’m serious, too,” Harry says in a low voice. “I know you have been sneaking around the castle at night. I know you are up to something. I just don’t know what and you won’t tell me.” </p><p>Draco’s eyes well with tears, and Harry doesn’t understand. His chest aches, as if someone is squeezing all the air out. He takes a step towards Draco. </p><p>“Let me help you,” Harry says softly. Draco flinches away, and Harry grabs his arm before he can move away, pulling him close. “Please.”</p><p>“You don’t get it,” Draco whispers, looking at Harry frantically, a mouse trapped in the claws of a hawk. Is Harry that much of a monster?  </p><p>“Then help me get it, Draco!”</p><p>“Please don’t do this,” Draco says, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Not you, Harry. I need you. I can’t—you won’t—”</p><p>Harry pulls him towards him and kisses him roughly on the lips, salty from his tears, unable to see Draco so distressed, wanting to make it stop, however he can. Draco yields slightly, his body relaxing against Harry’s mouth. He kisses Draco’s jaw, then his neck, murmuring against his skin, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”</p><p>Draco wrenches away, shaking, but Harry keeps him close with a painfully tight grip. “Stop saying those things!” Draco cries. </p><p>“What things?” Harry asks, pleading, placing his hands on Draco’s cheeks, forcing him to look at Harry. Draco stares at Harry longingly, then coldly looks away. </p><p>“Nice things. I don’t deserve it.”</p><p>“My love—”</p><p>“No!” Draco shouts, and he shoves his arm out, yanking up the sleeve. The Dark Mark ripples a stark inky black against the pale skin of Draco’s forearm. Harry's scar hurts, before he realizes his jaw has clenched so hard that it's just his head throbbing with pain. After all the following, after all the suspicion, to see the evidence in front of his eyes sends a shock wave through Harry.</p><p>“But how—all those times…” Harry’s voice dies in his throat. </p><p>“I used a simple concealment charm,” Draco says bitterly. “I knew if you ever found out that…”</p><p>“That I would hate you,” Harry finishes, his voice cold and empty. Draco’s eyes flash with pain. Harry feels numb, battered, hollow. “That I would tell Dumbledore.”</p><p>“Yes,” Draco whispers.</p><p>Without warning, Harry spins Draco around and pushes him against the wall, caging him in with his arms. “I should turn you in right now,” he growls, and Draco gasps in fear. “After all, you are a Death Eater.”</p><p>“That’s not fair,” Draco says in a choked voice. “My family—they’ll die—I have to!”</p><p>Harry hates him, suddenly, with such intensity that only when he realizes he's kissing Draco with as much strength as he can muster does he realize that he only hates how much he loves him anyway. Beneath his lips Draco moans in delighted surprise, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry pushes away all the doubts, all the worries, that he is walking a line too thin to hold his weight, to keep afloat the heavy darkness in his soul, and plies Draco’s mouth open with his tongue. </p><p>“Oh!” a voice exclaims from behind them. </p><p>Harry looks sharply over his shoulder, arms gone still around Draco, and sees Katie Bell from the Gryffindor Quidditch team staring at them in shock. Harry looks at Draco, who looks back at him with wild eyes before whipping his wand out and pointing it at Katie before she has time to react. Harry doesn’t make any move to stop him.</p><p>Without taking his eyes off Harry, Draco whispers, “<em> Imperio.” </em>  </p><p>Harry turns and watches with horror as Katie suddenly goes still, her whole body going limp, before moving slowly towards them, taking the box from Draco’s hand. She then walks sluggishly out of the bathroom, her eyes glazed and glassy. </p><p>“You didn’t stop me,” Draco says in a weak, drained voice when she’s gone. He lowers his wand, and slumps back against the wall, his eyes shut. </p><p>Harry looks at Draco’s very pale face, his cheeks still wet with tears, and for the first time he feels truly terrified of what he has become. “No, I didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“If you had to name all the girls you are attracted to, who would they be?” Blaise asks in his deep, smooth voice that reminds Pansy of a rich red velvet cupcake she once had that actually made her moan out loud. </p><p>Blaise has an equally smooth, velvety smile which he flashes at Pansy curled on the bed beside him. She traces a sharp red nail down his toned bicep, his skin a beautiful, dark brown that Pansy just can’t resist, like that cupcake.</p><p>“Girls?” Pansy echoes. “You don’t want to know which boys I’m attracted to?”</p><p>Blaise smirks. “Isn’t it just me?”</p><p>“Right.” Pansy rolls her eyes, laughing. “If it makes you feel better.”</p><p>“So,” Blaise says with a wicked grin, “which girls?” </p><p>Pansy smiles, her body warming like she’s glowing from within. Blaise is the second person she’s told about her attraction to boys <em> and </em>girls, with Draco being the first, of course. It had happened by accident, one of the first nights she spent with Blaise, when she had realized he might be the best person she knew. Pansy could sense her love for Blaise settling on her like a second skin, and so out of fear she blurted out the only thing that might scare Blaise away. </p><p>But he had stayed, he had listened, and he had loved her anyway—on one condition.</p><p>They had to keep their love a secret. </p><p>Pansy had agreed almost in relief. The thought of openly admitting that type of vulnerability to the entire school was nothing short of a panic attack. Behind closed doors she is safe, she is protected, she retains her power. </p><p>And she enjoys his support, even if the support is only in the privacy of the bedroom. </p><p>“Now you might disagree,” Pansy says shyly, “but I’ve always fancied Granger. She’s so smart and pretty and you can tell beneath those robes she has a nice curvy figure. No wonder that Weasley boy follows after her like a lost puppy, drool and all.”</p><p>Blaise laughs. “And speaking of Weasleys, the youngest one, Ginevra. She’s quite something, isn’t she? Fit and sassy, the perfect combination. Gets around too, from what I’ve heard.” Pansy shoves his arm. </p><p>“Not more than me,” Pansy says with a grin of her own. “But I agree. From what I’ve heard, Ginny is quite good in bed.” She pauses, thinking. “What about Cho from Ravenclaw? She’s been in a state since that Diggory boy died—and who wouldn’t be over a gorgeous face like that?—but still, did you see her at the Yule Ball?”</p><p>“Honestly, Cho and Cedric made a stunning couple, I must say. It was a shame he died, really. He was so handsome even I questioned myself,” Blaise says, almost sadly. Blaise rarely expresses emotions readily; in that way he and Pansy are alike. </p><p>“Do you think you could ever be attracted to a boy?” Pansy asks curiously.</p><p>Blaise shrugs. “For the most part, not at all.” He smiles deviously, and with a flat hand glides up and down the curve of Pansy’s bare hip. “I find women the more sensual sex.” </p><p>“But you never even thought about it?” </p><p>“I have, though not on purpose,” Blaise says, frowning. “I really only thought about it when Draco would bring it up or ask me questions. Before he knew he was gay, of course.”</p><p>Pansy’s mouth falls open in shock. “You know about Draco?”</p><p>Blaise raises an eyebrow. “Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. He never told me explicitly, though, but I figured it out quite easily after a while.”</p><p>“But how did you know?” Pansy knows Draco would be mortified if he ever found out that Blaise knew. </p><p>Blaise smirks. “He’s been best friends with you and yet he’s never made a move? Impossible. He had to be gay. You’re too irresistible, not to mention funny.” Blaise pauses to kiss her lips slowly before pulling away and murmuring, “And smart.” He kisses the hollow of her neck, and she muffles a nervous laugh. “Ambitious.” Pansy turns onto her back as Blaise kisses a path down her stomach. “Honest, even if it hurts.” His mouth travels past her navel, his tongue darting expertly as one hand settles on her inner thigh, shifting her legs over his shoulders, the other easing a finger inside her. “And, of course, loving.”</p><p>With a shuddering breath Pansy lifts her hips up to meet Blaise’s warm, tender mouth, sparks of pleasure lighting up like matches, like silent fireworks that ripple inside, hot and fiery and wild. As her arms splay out beside her, gripping the sheets with an uncontrollable strength, her shoulder blades digging into the mattress, and Blaise’s fingers moving in an intoxicating, steady rhythm that matches the beat of her heart, Pansy knows she is absolutely fucked. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>“I know who cursed Katie Bell.”</p><p>Hermione sighs, and Ron rolls his eyes. Ginny just looks up from the magazine she’s flipping through and after a moment of searching Harry’s face, goes back to reading. </p><p>“Not again, Harry,” Ron says wearily. </p><p>“It’s Draco, I know it,” Harry says, that dangerous gleam in his eyes as he sits forward, almost conspiratorially. </p><p>“Oh so now it’s Draco, is it?” Ron asks. “Been thinking about him too much, don’t you think mate?” </p><p>Harry flushes angrily, and Hermione notices Ginny sneaking another curious glance at Harry. “<em> Malfoy, </em>then. I know it was Malfoy who cursed Katie.”</p><p>“And how do you know this again,” Hermione cuts in sharply. “Oh right! You just know.”</p><p>“Yes.” Harry leans back, his legs spread apart in an intimidating way that Hermione has rarely seen him do, the last time being a certain Triwizard tournament when Ron had gotten all mad and Hermione had tried to convince them to talk. She had guessed he felt hurt by Ron's rejection. So what is he hurt about now? “I just know. Is that not enough for you? Do you not trust me anymore?”</p><p>Hermione wonders silently if she ever truly trusted Harry. </p><p>“Of course we trust you,” Ron says, though he sounds about as sure as Hermione's thoughts, “but this is taking it too far. What happened to Katie was a serious criminal offense, not just some silly prank. You can’t go accusing people without proof.”</p><p>Harry smiles darkly, and even Ron blanches. “What if I have proof?”</p><p>Ginny sits up at this, but only Hermione notices, with Harry and Ron too busy staring each other off. Should Hermione intervene? For some reason, a small voice inside her head tells her to stay silent and watch it play out. </p><p>“Well, what’s the proof then?” Ron asks daringly. </p><p>“Malfoy has the Dark Mark,” Harry says. “I know it. We just have to trap him and force him to show it.” </p><p>“Oh not this again,” Ron exclaims, exasperated. “Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater.”</p><p>“But at Borgin and Burkes—”</p><p>“I know, Harry, I was there too! But we don’t know what we saw exactly. Malfoy and his family have always been slightly suspicious. It’s not a shock they get furniture at suspicious shops.”</p><p>“Ron, I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t know for sure.”</p><p>Suddenly Ginny stands up. “I believe you, Harry.” Harry looks up at her in surprise, then suspicion. “But if you have proof, you should tell Dumbledore immediately.”</p><p>Ron and Hermione start to protest that Harry can't possibly tell Dumbledore a bunch of nonsense when Harry’s face goes very still and very pale, and he looks at Ginny with a deadly silence. </p><p>“No,” he finally says. "Absolutely not."</p><p>“Hold on—” Ron begins, puzzled, but Harry cuts him off. </p><p>“I lied,” Harry says coldly, crossing his arms. “I don’t have any proof.” </p><p>Ginny shrugs when Ron and Hermione look at her, baffled. “Dean’s waiting.” She leaves them with a grim smile like she knows something they don't, striding over to Dean who is sitting across the common room with Seamus. Dean smiles at her and Ginny kisses him briefly, sitting beside him on the couch. </p><p>Hermione carefully watches Harry as he looks at Ginny hold Dean’s hand, but he doesn’t say anything or express any annoyance or hurt. Ron and Hermione share a look, then blush, the awkwardness from the pub last Hogsmeade trip still on both their minds. </p><p>Suddenly Harry gets up, and quietly says goodnight, going off to the boy’s dormitory with the same closed off expression he had since the moment Ginny suggested going to Dumbledore. </p><p>Hermione just doesn’t understand. If Harry wanted so badly to catch Malfoy, why shy away from the chance simply because he’d have to speak with his father? She’s definitely missing something glaringly obvious. </p><p>“So, uh, how is...are classes?” Ron asks Hermione, scratching the back of his neck. She wishes she could know if Ron felt the same way, but every time she gets close to asking, everything crumbles into painful awkwardness like she doesn’t know him at all. Could she simply be missing something glaringly obvious with everyone she thinks she knows so well?</p><p>“They’re good, I—”</p><p>“Actually, never mind,” Ron interrupts with a nervous laugh. “I’m basically in all the same classes as you. And you always have perfect marks. Stupid question, really.”</p><p>“Oh, right...” Hermione trails off, looking at Ginny and Dean, and how enviously perfect they seem to be together. But maybe they aren’t perfect at all. Hermione remembers her talk with Ginny, and how flippant she had been about Dean. </p><p><em> Yes, </em> Hermione thinks with a mental sigh, <em>I'm </em><em>definitely missing something glaringly obvious, in more ways than one. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. October 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A small statue of a snake coiled and ready to strike that serves as a direct communicator on her desk suddenly begins speaking, and Pansy drops her quill, startled. “Ms. Parkinson?” a timid voice asks. It’s a store clerk from level one. </p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>“There’s someone who wants to see you.”</p><p>“Really? And pray, tell me who this someone might be?” Pansy asks. </p><p>“It’s the war hero. Hermione Granger.”</p><p>Pansy goes still. Hermione Granger wanting to see Pansy Parkinson? It’s like all of her fantasies coming true, and also all of her worst nightmares. She jumps into motion, straightening her hair and shimmying up her slim back pencil skirt.</p><p>Her heels click ominously as she walks down the hall, entering an elevator that just opened. She takes a deep breath as the elevator shoots down three flights of stairs to the main shopping level.</p><p>When she steps out, Hermione Granger is on the other side, ready to walk into the elevator. She halts when she notices Pansy, who raises an eyebrow, and steps outside. Hermione crosses her arms, almost a foot and a half shorter than her and with that same curvy figure as in school. </p><p>“Hello Granger,” Pansy says with her red-lipped smile. “Were you, perchance, about to go up to my office?”</p><p>Hermione’s jaw sets stubbornly. “In fact, Parkinson, I was. When I asked someone for you they sent a witch named Daisy, apparently your secretary. She was quite anxious to call for you. I must say, I hadn’t expected to wait.”</p><p>“War hero status gone to your head a bit?”</p><p>“Perhaps you still hold a grudge?” Hermione counters, and Pansy feels a rush of exhilaration that washes out the hurt pride. She has missed the innocent rivalry from her school days, when everything was Slytherin against Gryffindor. Draco puts up a good fight, but ever since Harry’s reappeared in the picture he’s gone soft. </p><p>“But of course not,” Pansy says with mocking grace. “What can I do for you today, Granger?”</p><p>A flicker of approval appears and quickly fades in Hermione’s eyes. “I would like to buy a pantsuit. Something functional but still…”</p><p>“Sexy?”</p><p>Hermione’s lips quirk. “I was going to say high fashion.”</p><p>“Well, with me you can have both.” Pansy sashays across the room to the section of clothes displaying her latest arrivals. Pansy expertly sifts through the racks, draping any she likes over her shoulder. Hermione watches attentively a few feet away.</p><p>“Done,” Pansy says. “Follow me.” She leads Hermione across the store to the dressing rooms. She opens one and hangs up the various pant suits. “Start with the black one. And use this white button down for now.” </p><p>Hermione nods, grabbing the shirt from Pansy’s hands, apparently too stunned to speak. She goes into the dressing room and closes the door. A minute late she reemerges in the black pant suit, and Pansy tilts her head, examining her.</p><p>“The pants could fit better…” Pansy murmurs. “It’s a classic pant suit. Can’t go wrong. But I assume you have plenty of black clothes already. Perhaps a bolder choice would be more worth your while. Try the champagne pink.”</p><p>Hermione smirks. “<em> Champagne </em> pink?”</p><p>“Yes, champagne pink. It’s a very specific pink, mind you.” Pansy crosses her arms, daring Hermione to question her judgement. But Hermione only lifts her chin slightly, then walks back into the dressing room.</p><p>After a rustling of clothes and shadows playing across the floor of a suggested figure and clothes pooling at the ankles, Hermione walks out wearing the champagne pink pant suit. </p><p>Pansy tilts her head. </p><p>Hermione looks down at herself, puzzled. “What? Do I look bad?”</p><p>“No, you look hot,” Pansy says bluntly. </p><p>“Then what is it?”</p><p>“Well, the color…” </p><p>“Doesn’t scream Hermione Granger?”</p><p>“Try on the midnight blue. And Hermione?” </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Take off the shirt. This piece stands alone.”</p><p>Hermione looks surprised but nods, returning to the dressing room. Pansy can barely stand the wait, and she reprimands herself for getting invested. She impatiently examines her nails—a dark green for obvious reasons—though her heart’s not in it.</p><p>“How do I look?” Hermione asks, and Pansy’s head whips up. She gasps, and Hermione flushes, but doesn’t shy way, instead placing her hands confidently on her hips that flare out in the figure hugging pants.</p><p>“You look…”</p><p>“Sexy?” Hermione suggests, and Pansy would laugh if she could stop staring. </p><p>“Breathtaking,” Pansy says, that rush of satisfaction when she gets an outfit down perfectly; the sharp, plunging neckline that is a breath shy of too much and how the color brings out that rich tone of brown that she has always found so beautiful in Hermione’s complexion.“Has anyone ever told you that blue is your color?”</p><p>Hermione blushes this time, and nods. “Actually, yes.”</p><p>“This is the one. If you’d like to purchase it, I’ll ring you up myself at the register—with a war hero discount, of course.” Pansy winks, and Hermione laughs. </p><p>“That’s very kind.” Then she hesitates, her smile dropping into a frown. “I do have one more thing…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I heard that you also make undergarments for...the bedroom.”</p><p>Pansy smirks. “You mean <em> lingerie </em>?”</p><p>Hermione looks slightly flustered, but doesn’t back down. “Yes. I’d like to surprise my husband. I’ve been so busy at work, and he’s been so wonderful with the baby at home, and I thought…”</p><p>“You could reward him?”</p><p>“I was thinking more along the lines of thanking him,” Hermione says with that indignance that Pansy has always admired from afar. “Do you have any suggestions?”</p><p>“Wait here.” She quickly walks over to the other side of the store dedicated to her famous lingerie, and heads over to one of her newer lines. She picks out her favorite one—the one she designed as an homage to a certain schoolgirl crush that has long since faded away, a mark of a simpler time and a more innocent girl, before everything she loved was crushed under the indifferent weight of the war, like a cigarette crushed under the heel of a boot.</p><p>Pansy returns to an anxious looking Hermione. She holds them out. </p><p>“And don’t worry about paying for these. It’s a gift. And I’m sure after Mr. Weasley sees you in them he’ll be thanking <em> you.” </em></p><p>Hermione gingerly takes the white lacy lingerie with a smile. “Thank you. I’ll try it on.”</p><p>“If that’s all, meet me at the register when you’re ready.”</p><p>“Well, actually…” Hermione stands awkwardly, her weight shifting from one foot to another. She bites her lip.</p><p>“Let me guess, you need a pair of stilettos to go with the outfit?”</p><p>“No,” Hermione says, averting her eyes. “It’s about Draco.”</p><p>“Oh.” Pansy deflates a little, then that familiar worry clenches at her stomach. Why is Hermione interested in Draco? Has something happened at the Ministry? Did Hermione find out he was illegally brewing Potter that potion?</p><p>If he gets in trouble because of that stupid Golden boy, Pansy will finish the job the Dark Lord could never get right herself. </p><p>“What about Draco?” Pansy asks with her usual chilly aloofness. Hermione frowns. </p><p>“I guess it’s not exactly about Draco…” Hermione pauses, then looks Pansy directly in the eyes, and her dark gaze intimidates Pansy more than she’ll ever admit. “Do you know if Draco and Harry were ever...friends at Hogwarts?”</p><p>Pansy’s stomach literally curdles, and she has to brace herself not to collapse entirely. <em> Oh Draco, didn’t I always say that even if Harry loves you and trusts you, not everyone else will? </em>She had always known deep down that some day people would start asking questions; she just hadn’t known that day would come so soon.</p><p>“Friends? Don’t be ridiculous,” Pansy says, trying to appear as flippant as possible. “After all, they hated each other.”</p><p>Something glows a little brighter in Hermione’s eyes. “Sometimes hate and love look the same.”</p><p>“What are you suggesting, Hermione?” Pansy asks sharply.</p><p>Hermione smiles, but it looks as wrong on her now as that champagne pink pant suit did. “Nothing, of course. It was just a question. Anyway, you’re probably right. I’m sure they did hate each other, in their own way.”</p><p>“Don’t we all hate in our own way?” Pansy counters, and Hermione studies her face with those keen brown eyes that seem to catch the loose threads in every story. She wonders who they are really talking about now, and how truly passionate, almost borderline obsessional, that Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry can become if the fires are stoked in just the right way.</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione says quietly, “I suppose we do.”</p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Draco’s halfway through his usual routine for closing up shop at the end of the day when the door rings, signalling a new customer, even though he had locked the door and closed the blinds already. He pulls his wand out, his heart already beating wildly in his chest, and braces himself for an attack. </p><p>“Don’t move!” Draco shouts, pointing the wand at the intruder, a tall figure in a dark cloak, the hood obscuring the face in shadow. </p><p>“Is that how you greet an old friend?” the figure says, then throws his hood back, revealing Harry’s familiar face like a shock to his system, and he drops his wand, sighing.</p><p>“I’m closed, Harry. Didn’t you read the sign?”</p><p>Harry smirks. “That’s exactly why I came in.”</p><p>“I already made an exception for you once, Harry, you can’t keep taking advantage of me.”</p><p>“Do you not want to see me?” Harry asks.</p><p>Draco sighs, irritated. “No, I mean, yes, I do. But…”</p><p>“Then how can I possibly be taking advantage of you if you <em> want </em>me here?” Harry argues with his cold stone logic, and it infuriates Draco how right and yet how so wrong Harry can be at the same time.</p><p>“Why are you here?” Draco asks wearily. </p><p>“I wanted to see you,” Harry says, as if it’s that simple. Oh how Draco wished everything could be just that simple. But he’s learned that lesson the hard way.</p><p>Nothing with Harry is ever that simple.</p><p>“I thought that you said the exact opposite, if I recall correctly,” Draco says, trying to hide the utter bitterness he feels. Even drunk, the rejection had a nasty sting with it.</p><p>Harry approaches the front desk slowly, his boots hitting the wood floors with a soft thud. “I did say that, and I was telling the truth. I don’t want to see you. Except,” Harry adds with a quirk to his lips, “truths often like to lie, because lies often tell the truth. You see, I just can’t keep away from you no matter how hard I try. And I really do try.”</p><p>“So you don’t want to see me,” Draco says slowly, his mind feeling twisted and turned like it always does around Harry and his twisted and turned words, “because you actually do want to see me.” </p><p>Harry smiles, and it’s disarming in its subtle arrogance, that glint to the edge of a sword that tells you this person will unravel you and that they know it too.</p><p>“There, you’re getting it,” Harry says. “It’s that simple.”</p><p>“Oh is that what you call simple, Potter?” And the way Draco’s tone slips back effortlessly to that flirty rivalry brings a flush to Draco’s cheeks. Harry knows just what buttons to press to undo them all. </p><p>“When it comes to you,” Harry says, suddenly sounding serious, “I have always just known.”</p><p>“That’s funny,” Draco replies tightly, “because when it comes to <em> you, </em>I have never been more in the dark.”</p><p>“I want you, Draco,” Harry says in a low voice.</p><p>Draco wants to scream, to throw a potion vial at Harry’s face, to grab Harry’s cloak by the front and kiss him hard. The mixture of emotions results in a simmering silence that lasts for what feels like an eternity.</p><p>Finally Harry breaks the silence. “Does your offer still stand?”</p><p><em> It can be a secret. </em>He remembers saying that, but he also remembers the rejection. He remembers Harry lying about what he had said, and he remembers the pain of his insults like a sword straight to the heart. </p><p>
  <em> You never stop being a Death Eater. </em>
</p><p>Draco looks at him, the unruly dark curls falling over his forehead like tendrils of black smoke, the stormy green eyes like churning waves in the depths of a sea teeming with dangers scarcely imaginable, and that smile, the most dangerous of them all, with a wicked edge to every soft curve.</p><p>How many times will Draco cut himself on that smile before he decides to heal?</p><p>“You’re fine fucking a Death Eater as long as no one knows about it, right?” Draco asks harshly, and Harry flinches. It brings a rush of satisfaction, almost triumph if he didn’t feel so hurt, that no one could quite pierce through his Chosen Boy facade except Draco. He alone possessed the power to bring Harry to his knees.</p><p>“It’s not about me,” Harry says, and it sounds like the closest thing to pleading. But Harry never begs. “It’s about what people would say.”</p><p>“And you care what people would say?”</p><p>“It’s dangerous, and I have plenty of enemies as it is.” Harry pauses, and turns away, as if about to leave. “But if you don’t want to, that’s a different story. Just say the word, and I’ll never speak of it again.”</p><p>Draco recalls Pansy’s warning with those same words. <em> I will say this just once, and then we can never speak of it again. Be careful with Harry. Even if he loves you and trusts you, not everyone else will. </em></p><p>He feels torn in two directions, and only one holds his heart in a vice-like grip. Why is it that all the choices in his life feel like picking the lesser of two evils? After all, no matter how painful it is to love Harry in secret, it has always been much worse not loving him at all. </p><p>“Okay,” Draco says finally, and Harry’s entire face lights up, not in a loving way, but more of a bright hunger with a ravenous appetite. </p><p>“Okay,” Harry repeats, then smirks. “Tomorrow night, my place. I’ll be waiting.”</p><p>Then he Apparates without another word, leaving Draco dizzy like his whole world has flipped—but instead of upside down, it’s as if everything around him is finally rightside up.</p><p>
  <em> I’ll be waiting.  </em>
</p><p>Draco will be too. </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>As Hermione readies herself to Apparate home from the Ministry exactly two hours earlier than she had told Ron, she reflects on her interaction with Pansy earlier that day. </p><p>
  <em> Don’t we all hate in our own way? </em>
</p><p>Something in her eyes when she said that reminded Hermione of something, but for the rest of the day she had trouble remembering what. But she remembers now, and it doesn’t make sense. </p><p>That look was the same one Draco had when Harry had walked into their office the other day. The same stunned quiet, the same rising pride, the same utter hopelessness, all at the same time. Perhaps it is a unique trait in Slytherins? But somehow Hermione doubts that. This is something else, perhaps not unrelated, but certainly deeper, and absolutely more important.</p><p>She had felt something with Pansy, something undefinable, almost unexplored, which probably was undefinable <em> because </em>it had never been explored, that makes Hermione pause and wonder. How much had the war taken away? Did only people die, or did experiences die as well?</p><p>How many moments have been stolen from her?</p><p>But these questions stirr in her heart more so than in her mind, and Hermione knows well that while the mind supplies answers, the heart will only ask for more. </p><p>Before she braces herself for the tumbling commute home, Hermione envisions walking through the front door, seeing Ron gape at her new midnight blue pant suit that she has to admit, shows off her figure very nicely, and seeing the happiness radiate from him at her surprise. </p><p>Yes, the war stole some moments from her, but it also gave her new ones. </p><p>Hermione Apparates, and straightens herself on the porch, self-consciously tugging at her suit. She wonders in a second of doubt whether Pansy had tricked her into buying an unflattering suit to humiliate her, but then reprimands herself for assuming ill of her just because she’s a Slytherin. Just look at Draco, he turned out to be very gracious. </p><p>She opens the door. </p><p>“Who is—Hermione? But you’re…” Ron’s voice trails away when he turns around, sees her suit, and the way it hugs her hips and shows just enough in the neckline to suggest a little more. “Early,” Ron finishes, clearing his throat, a bright red blush decorating his cheekbones. </p><p>“I thought I’d surprise you,” Hermione says, her voice warming like it does when she feels vulnerable and seen at the same time. </p><p>Ron grins. “Well, this is certainly a surprise, and a welcome one too. Is that a new suit?”</p><p>“It is,” Hermione says with a pleased smile. She gives a little flourished turn, posing at the end as if she were in a photoshoot for Witch Weekly, which incidentally, Pansy had asked Hermione to model for in their next edition, seeing as she was a war hero and very beautiful—Pansy’s words, not hers.</p><p>Hermione almost mentions this to Ron, which would unravel the entire encounter with Pansy, and her thoughts, her questions. But in the face of her beaming husband, they pale and shrink, like cobwebs that had once held a nasty spider turn to dust in the shadows. </p><p>“Rose has just fallen asleep for her nap,” Ron says in an awkwardly offhanded way, that Hermione has learned to realize is his way of signalling that he’s in the mood. She had always assumed his reluctance to explicitly say anything meant he didn’t care, but if anything, it has always meant that he’s cared too much. </p><p>“Why don’t you go to the bedroom?” Hermione suggests, trying to remain casual. Ron looks a little put off by her flippancy, but nods anway. “I’ll be right there. Just need to use the loo.”</p><p>When Ron’s gone down the hall and she hears their bedroom door open and close, she reaches for her the button on her suit jacket. </p><p>It’s time for the surprise. </p><p>With her heart beating in her throat like it’s a first date and not a domestic night with her family, Hermione tiptoes down the hall, the cool air prickling her almost entirely bare skin, and quietly opens the door to their bedroom.</p><p>Ron’s shirtless on the bed, and he looks up when Hermione walks in.</p><p>“Whoa,” Ron says, breathless. His eyes are wide as he takes all of Hermione in, and out of the corner of her eyes she glimpses what he sees in the mirror, the way the white lace leaves nothing to be guessed, the way the delicate straps outline her soft curves and trace a path across her most sensitive skin, the way her breasts—which she has most recently been self conscious of ever since Rose’s birth—spill from the thin bralette in full, lush crescent moons.</p><p>“Surprise,” Hermione whispers. </p><p>Then Ron looks up at her face and smiles so lovingly, that suddenly all those wonderings and doubts and worries disappear, and her heart speaks a single name, and it’s not a question at all. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. October 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ronny baby, will you give me a kiss goodbye?” Lavender coos from beside Ron, her voice sweet but with an underlying urgency that makes Ron cringe. It’s not that he doesn’t like her constant doting and attention, but sometimes those very qualities reveal a deep insecurity that unsettles him. </p><p>“I’m just going to see Hagrid, Lavender,” Ron says gently, attempting to unlatch her arms from around his neck. She pouts, blushes coyly, and snuggles her face in the crook of Ron’s neck, her lips soft and persistent against his skin, and the sugary sweet smell of her perfume drenches the air around him. “I’ll be back for dinner.”</p><p>“But that’s in so long,” Lavender complains. She leans in, kissing him, the only thing they seem to do together, not that Ron minds. Her round blue eyes and long lashes give him a flirty, suggestive look. “Imagine what could happen in those long, long hours…”</p><p>Ron’s imagination begins to wander despite wanting to have some space from Lavender’s insistent and adoring presence. It’s as if one part of his brain goes hazy and lulled by her pink lipstick, that almost sickly sweet perfume, and those soft, dainty hands, while another part feels almost nauseous with her arms around him, hearing her say his name in that baby voice, and knowing deep down that this relationship was built more on frenzied hormones than a solid, loving foundation. </p><p>“Lavender…” Ron comes up with a million reasons not to stay, but compared to Lavender’s plump lips, her wispy blonde hair floating like golden sunshine around her heart-shaped face, and above all—perhaps even the only real attraction—her willingness, eagerness, and simple availability, made Ron hesitate. </p><p>“Your friends won’t even notice you’re gone,” Lavender whispers, kissing him with more fervor, and how could Ron say no to a girl as pretty and sweet as Lavender when she’s pleading like this?</p><p>No less than a few seconds later he hears someone clearing their throat. Ron pulls away, ignoring Lavender’s protests, and blushes when he sees Harry and Hermione standing there, the former raising a bored eyebrow and the latter with arms crossed, frowning. </p><p>“I thought you said we were going to visit Hagrid today?” Hermione asks coldly. Lavender makes a noise beside him, but he hardly notices. </p><p>“And what if I won’t?” Ron counters, and he can’t quite explain the blinding rage that seems to simmer beneath his skin except that it is directed entirely at Hermione for standing there with that smug superiority and righteous anger. </p><p>Harry rolls his eyes. “Come on, mate. Hagrid’s waiting.”</p><p>“But Ronny…” Lavender whispers, though Hermione still hears it and huffs, turning away. While Ron can confidently say he’s upset with Hermione for constantly finding fault in him when he’s done nothing wrong, he still doesn’t understand the cause for her harsh criticism. </p><p>He had thought once, that perhaps, but no. </p><p>Clearly Hermione’s true feelings of disdain and disgust have shown themselves when he started dating Lavender. Ron never stood a chance, and the realization of this hurt his pride more than he likes to admit. </p><p>“Come on, Harry, let’s just go,” Hermione says, casting one last resentful look at Ron before grabbing Harry’s sleeve and dragging him away. </p><p>“Wait!” Ron hurries after them, leaving a startled and hurt Lavender without the least bit of remorse. </p><p>“Honestly, Ronald, you needn’t come,” Hermione says harshly when he catches up to them, falling in line next to Harry who silently follows after a Hermione who continues to speed down the hallways, books in her arms, frizzy hair whipping viciously behind her. </p><p>“You get upset if I don’t see Hagrid, but if I do see Hagrid you get upset anyway!” Ron exclaims, and Hermione whips around fuming, and Harry barely manages to stop before colliding with her. </p><p>“Merlin, Hermione,” Harry mutters, his voice suggesting that he’s not really there, something not unusual recently. Whenever Ron or Hermione try to talk with him, he shuts the conversation down with a cold efficiency that has scared Ron, at least, from ever trying again. </p><p>“Actually, Ronald, for your information, I could care less either way!” Hermione shouts. </p><p>“Oh yeah? It sure doesn’t look like it! You look as if your head’s about to explode, and that’s putting it lightly! Could it be that time of month?”</p><p>A brief look of hurt flashes across Hermione’s face, which makes Ron regret his last comment said purely to anger her, when Hermione shakes her head, laughing without mirth. “You are so unbelievably full of yourself, Ron. It’s no wonder you have no more room in that pea-sized brain of yours for anything else.”</p><p>“Just because you’re the smartest witch in the class doesn’t make me an idiot! You act like you’re so much better than me, but I don’t see you with anyone. You’re just lonely and jealous that someone actually loves me,” Ron says, and he knows he went too far the moment the words leave his mouth. Even Harry grimaces. </p><p>Tears spring up in Hermione’s eyes. She hastily wipes them away with the end of her sleeve. Ron’s about to attempt a painful retraction of the insult when Hermione smirks, looking at something past his head. </p><p>“Oh, I wouldn’t look Ron. You won’t like what you see,” she says, sounding both bitter and smug. </p><p>Ron turns around, and sees Ginny snogging Dean in plain view behind a nearby tapestry, scarcely hidden from view. Immediately he wants to vomit and punch Dean for no reason other than to stop the current horrifying scene from continuing further. </p><p>“I can’t believe it,” Ron says angrily. “Right where anyone can see!”</p><p>He hears Hermione snort ungraciously behind him. “Oh, but how could I forget! Ginny and Dean are dating now. Aren’t they a charming couple?” </p><p>“Dating!” Ron exclaims, now doubly horrified. </p><p>Then suddenly the same thought occurs to both Hermione and Ron simultaneously, and they both look to Harry, as if only now remembering his recent non-break up with Ginny. </p><p>But Harry barely spares them a glance, his eyes trained on the floor once more, apparently deep in thought elsewhere, brooding over some trouble or other that Hermione and Ron can hardly begin to fathom.</p><p>“Harry?” Hermione asks tentatively. He looks up at her, expectant. “We’re here if you ever need to talk.” Her voice sounds incredibly gentle compared to how she spoke to Ron just moments ago. A sudden flare of jealousy heats up Ron’s cheeks, which he resolutely ignores. </p><p>“Talk about what?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious. </p><p>Hermione and Ron share a brief look, before both flush recalling their argument, and looking away.</p><p>“Nothing,” Ron says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Come on. Hagrid’s waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Harry watches Draco silently, their hands linked loosely between them on the floor. The only sound that can be heard is the crackling of flames from the kitchen furnace, which Harry lit when the room got impossibly cold. </p><p>He wonders if this is love. </p><p>Physically Harry feels exhausted, and not just from their time together. Simply keeping himself together, sleeping through a muddled Sleeping Draught induced night, staying up to avoid ceaseless nightmares, the sickening sensation of another person’s presence in your mind, and a looming threat of danger, all on top of a stressful school year with exams and friend drama and a secret relationship that constantly puts him on edge.</p><p>And then Harry has also never felt lighter. </p><p>When he’s with Draco, even like this, laying beside him while he rests, wishing they could be normal and sneak into each other’s dorms without risking everything, Harry can almost fly, can almost feel eternity rushing past him like the blur of the night sky as he rides on his broomstick, a vision of stars falling like rain. </p><p>Draco opens one eye, smirking when he sees Harry staring. </p><p>“Sleep well?” Harry asks, tightening his grip on Draco’s hand now that it won’t disturb him, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him. With a lazy smile Draco curls into him, so easily, so trusting, so warmly, that Harry could almost cry.</p><p>“How long did I sleep?” </p><p>“About an hour.” Harry kisses Draco’s forehead. “You were exhausted.”</p><p>“Still am,” Draco mumbles, the words more heard than felt against Harry’s bare chest. </p><p>“Nightmares?” Harry asks. “You know I could ask Lucy to make you another Draught.”</p><p>“No,” Draco says. “No nightmares.”</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>Draco stays silent. </p><p>Ever since the incident in the girl’s bathroom on their Hogsmeade trip, with Draco casting the <em> Imperius </em>curse on Katie Bell and Harry letting it happen, Harry has been trying to understand the nature of this task the Dark Lord ordered him to complete. But Draco never tells him anything, asking Harry to trust him instead.</p><p>Harry wants to trust him. Desperately. </p><p>“Sometimes,” Draco says quietly, “I wonder what our lives would be like if I had been born into a long line of Ravenclaws with no affiliations to the Dark Lord, or simply in another family entirely. Would we still find each other?”</p><p>“Or if I had been Sorted into Slytherin,” Harry adds cheekily.</p><p>“Fine,” Draco says. “If you were in Slytherin, would things be different?”</p><p>“I would hope so.” Harry smirks. “We’d still hate each other, I’m sure.”</p><p>Draco leans back, looking at Harry. “Did we ever hate each other?”</p><p>This gives Harry pause. He mulls it over, reflecting on all his years at Hogwarts so far, pictures Draco in First Year and on, each year getting colder and quieter and withdrawn, less boyish and pretentious and mean. </p><p>Sometimes Harry wonders if he has grown the opposite way, from a more pure, innocent child filled with hopes and dreams and friendship, only to face so much death and darkness and evil that he starts to reflect it, to harbor it deep within, to even become it. </p><p>“No,” Harry decides finally. “It was never really hate.”</p><p>“It would be easier, though, I think, to have been both in Slytherin, or different people entirely,” Draco says thoughtfully, settling back against Harry’s chest. He curls an arm around Harry’s waist, and even just that simple touch sets Harry's heart aflame. </p><p>“It would be easier if I had died that night with my parents,” Harry says. </p><p>Draco goes still inside his arms, and he says nothing for a long time. Then, “It would be easier if I had never been born.”</p><p>Something inside Harry protests violently against this, a wild beating of the fists against the prison of his heart, and his arms tighten their hold around Draco subconsciously. He hates that the thought crossed Draco’s mind, that he spoke those words out loud, that he’s now heard them and can never unhear them. </p><p>“But who are we to say what should be easy or not, right?” Harry says, his voice straining in a foreign attempt at lightness. He hastily kisses Draco’s cheek, and Draco turns his head and kisses him on the lips, fully, solidly, without hesitation.</p><p>When he pulls away, there’s a veil masking the usual sharpness in Draco’s eyes, and Harry can sense his distance, his strong hold, built like a wall around his heart. Even his body feels cold now, where a moment ago it was burning.</p><p>“Would you ever consider dating me in public?” Draco asks in a peculiar voice. </p><p>Harry cannot find the words to answer, and so he does not speak. He searches Draco’s face, trying to understand where such a question would come from, what he expected from Harry. Hadn’t they agreed this could be the only way? </p><p>Apparently Harry’s lack of a response is answer enough for Draco, who nods slowly, as if expecting it. He smiles, but it feels false, and Harry wonders how everything good always slips so easily through his fingers, like trying to grasp the wind.</p><p>“I need to go,” Draco says, getting up and leaving Harry laying on the blanket alone. </p><p>“But it’s still early,” Harry protest, struggling to sit up. “You don’t have to leave yet. You could sleep here for a bit more, I won’t mind.”</p><p>Draco shakes his head sadly. “I’m not going to sleep.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Please don’t follow me, Harry.” Then he’s gone, disappearing through the corridor. Harry watches him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach. </p><p>He lays back down on the blanket, and is about to close his eyes when a loud pop erupts in the room, and Harry almost shouts, sitting up straight like a lighting bolt. Harry looks around wildly, then sees Lucy peek out from the pantry door. When she sees Harry alone, she walks out, watching him with that childlike curiosity so distinct in House Elves.</p><p>"Lucy, you nearly killed me. What are you doing here?"</p><p>“You spend many nights here with that boy,” Lucy observes gently. Harry chooses to stare at the blanket, picking at a loose thread with a focus he doesn’t feel.</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” Lucy comes over to Harry and holds out her hand, and he takes it like he used to when he was a small child. Her hands are warm and leathery, wrinkled from work and age, but they bring Harry back to long, ceaseless nights alone in that little cottage, deep in the woods he doesn’t even know the name of for his own protection, sitting by the fire as Lucy sang him a song or read him a bed time story. </p><p>He had only ever wanted his father to be home, to treat him like his child, and not a secret weapon that could not follow him on his adventures and trips for fear of being damaged. Harry now knows with a damning certainty that Dumbledore spent many, many nights at Hogwarts instead of with him, and the ring of truth to it hurts more than anything.</p><p>“He’s the only one I have,” Harry whispers, his voice choked. “And I’m not even sure I have him at all.”</p><p>Lucy looks at him with wide, round eyes full of pain, a motherly tenderness that he has always found in her. “Love isn’t about possession, Harry. All you can do is give.”</p><p>“But what if I have nothing good to give?” </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Hermione tries her hardest not to glance at the clock in the common room. It won’t do her any good. She refocuses on the Potions reading at hand, but the words blur together. With a sigh, she gives in and looks up at the large ornate clock hanging above the fireplace.</p><p>Nearly midnight.</p><p>How can they still be out? Hermione pushes away the mental image of Ron kissing Lavender, the concept simply too horrid. As it happens, the more she tries not to picture it, the more her mind replays seeing them the other day, curled up together in that alcove, kissing and cooing at each other like a pair of lovebirds.</p><p>Merlin, she is so beyond jealous now.</p><p>Of course, Harry has been absolutely no help. He lays back on the couch, studying that bloody Map of his, as if waiting for it to reveal its secrets. Hermione can’t decide if she hates the Potions textbook or this Map more.</p><p>However, upon closer inspection, Harry doesn’t seem to be looking at the Map at all, instead staring off into space as if deep in thought. She had noticed this introspective behavior increasing as of late, but had chalked it up to a few sleepless nights over those memories Dumbledore keeps showing him. </p><p>But perhaps it’s more.</p><p>“Harry,” Hermione says, and he looks up absently at her. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He raises his eyebrows, briefly surprised. “I’m doing as well as I can, I suppose. Why do you ask?”</p><p>Hermione hesitates, wondering if she had misread—as is common when it comes to Harry—but the dark circles under his eyes, the tense set to his shoulders, and a deep weariness in his frown convince her that she’s on to something.</p><p>“Well, you may have noticed that Ronald...that I...with Lavender…” Hermione stutters to a stop. She has never really said the words out loud yet, although she has said almost as much to Harry before. Somehow simply being honest hurts more than telling half-truths.</p><p>“You and Lavender?” Harry asks with an amused smirk.</p><p>“Merlin, Harry! You know what I mean. You must know how I feel about Ron,” Hermione says, then continues casually, “I know I am no master of deception like you.”</p><p>Harry goes still all over. “Like me?”</p><p>“You and Ginny, of course,” Hermione says, though seeing Harry visibly relax as if in relief makes her sound the opposite of confident in her intuition. “You know, the other day, we saw her kissing Dean. I had said more to hurt Ron than anything else that she was dating him now.”</p><p>“Oh,” Harry says, recognition dawning on his face. “Yes. Right. Ginny and Dean are dating. That’s brilliant.”</p><p>“Brilliant?” Hermione asks, hardly hiding her disbelief. </p><p>“I mean, if it’s what she wants, shouldn’t I be happy for her?” Harry replies, with his unfailing logic that always makes Hermione annoyed because it seems to miss the point entirely. </p><p>“I don’t understand. Did you not love her at all? How can you simply not care?”</p><p>Harry stares at Hermione, slipping back into thought. He says finally, in a low voice, “I do love her, but it would never be enough. It is not the love she needs or deserves. We parted ways on a mutual understanding.” </p><p>“I-I don’t mean to presume…” Hermione trails off, unsure how to approach this mechanical, cold profession of love that feels more business-like than romantic.</p><p>“But you did.”</p><p>“I’m just worried about you, Harry. I didn’t know you felt that way about Ginny.” </p><p>“And just for the record,” Harry says, “I understand your situation with Ron. I know how it feels to want someone you can’t have.”</p><p>Hermione hears the words as if underwater, and she’s not quite sure they make any sense at all. “But Ginny…”</p><p>“Not Ginny,” is all he says.</p><p>“What? Who? It’s not possible,” Hermione says, scrutinizing Harry’s face for any clue as to who this mystery love might be. But his face is as impenetrable as ever. </p><p>“Sorry, but I can’t tell you.” He sighs, but she can tell it is not genuine, like he does not feel sorry at all. “It wouldn’t do any good. Better not even to talk about it, as it only brings me pain.”</p><p>The first thought that crosses Hermione’s mind is that he is lying, playing a prank on her, or something equally as insensitive. But her second thought is more of a question...what if?</p><p>Could Harry have been harboring a secret this big from both Ron and Hermione without them noticing in the slightest? Perhaps with their current feud and Lavender always stealing him away, neither of them had the means to see it.</p><p>“But you can’t just say—”</p><p>“Hermione,” Harry says, cutting her off, and the seriousness in his eyes washes away all doubts. “I really can’t tell you.” </p><p>Well, she has to assume one day she’ll find out who it is, when this will all be over and their current dramas will become vague memories that get lost in time when more drama arises.</p><p>“Okay,” Hermione says, though it physically pains her to relinquish the knowledge. “It’s your choice.”</p><p>Harry nods once, then settles back on the couch, reopening his Map. With the dangling mystery right in front of her, Hermione knows she will not be able to focus on her reading assignment—at least, not beside Harry.</p><p>With a deep sigh, Hermione begins to gather her things, but just then Harry jolts upright, staring at the Map in astonishment. </p><p>“Hermione, quick, look.” She scrambles over to him without thinking, and Harry shows her the map of the Third Floor, and points to a pair of footsteps. <em> Draco Malfoy. </em></p><p>“Harry, not this again.”</p><p>“Look!” he exclaims urgently, continuing to point. “Just look.” </p><p>Hermione reluctantly watches Malfoy’s footsteps trail down the hall, take a turn, pause, then disappear entirely, as if the ink melted away into the paper. She looks up at Harry, and he returns the look with a grim smile of satisfaction.</p><p>“See?” </p><p>“The Map must be lying,” Hermione suggests, though even to herself she sounds like she doubts it. Despite herself, the mystery of it intrigues her. Harry shakes his head vigorously.</p><p>“The Map never lies.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, a hand raking through his hair. “I just don’t get it. One second he’s there, the next, gone, as if the Map lost connection to him somehow. But where could he have gone? Some secret passageway the Map doesn't know about?”</p><p>Hermione pauses, a word snagging at her memory. “Lost…”</p><p>Harry looks at her with a dangerous ferocity, understanding that she’s beginning to pick apart the riddle. “Hermione? What is it?”</p><p>“Of course!” Hermione smiles. “The Room of Requirement!” Then she frowns as Harry sits back, all the energy leaving him in one fell swoop. “But that’s hardly suspicious, Harry. He might be trying to find something he misplaced. It’s not uncommon.”</p><p>“At midnight?”</p><p>Hermione shrugs. “Or he could be meeting up with someone, you know, to….” </p><p>“No,” Harry says harshly. “He’s not.”</p><p>“If Ron and Lavender are out at this hour, I wouldn’t be surprised others do too.” She blushes hotly, and hurriedly continues. “Malfoy is still a teenage boy. Honestly, I don’t understand why you are so determined to find evil where there is not.”</p><p>“Still, the Room of Requirement? Why not the Slytherin dormitories? Or an alcove? Or the Astronomy Tower?” Harry narrows his eyes, and almost mutters under his breath. “What could he be trying to find?”</p><p>“Really, Harry, he could have just lost something.”</p><p>He looks away, frowning. Then he looks at Hermione, his eyes the most sharp and alert she’s seen them in weeks. </p><p>“What if he’s trying to become lost himself?”</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. October 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco Apparates to Harry’s apartment doorstep as he usually does to work on the Sad Nightingale at late hours of the night. Though it has been a few days since last coming here, as the potion required exactly seven minutes over seven days of boiling on low heat with no added ingredients. </p><p>A much needed reprieve, if you ask Draco.</p><p>It is actually a very crucial and vulnerable time in the making of this particular potion, though, and only after this waiting period will Draco know if the potion is correct and he can continue on or if he needs to start over. Usually, he would be a nervous wreck, lingering around the cauldron, waking up from petty, repeated nightmares of seeing the potion destroyed, splattered all on the floor, or simply gone. </p><p>Not this time. </p><p>But of course, Draco doesn’t want this potion to turn out well. He always secretly wishes for something to go terribly wrong, for his cauldron to topple in the night, or better yet, for Harry himself to mess it up somehow, giving Draco an excuse to bring an end to this whole ordeal. </p><p>Tonight, however, Draco is here for a very different reason, and just thinking about it makes his heart pound and his head go light. He feels queasy, a little numb, and generally terrible. </p><p>Whoever compared love to butterflies or warmth had obviously felt nothing of the sort. Draco had known for a long time that love had more to do with dread and nausea than any fluttery, flimsy feeling. Merlin, Draco thought he might throw up.</p><p>He rings the doorbell, hoping he will not dump the Greek salad he had for dinner right before Harry’s feet. What’s taking him so long? He arrived a few minutes late as it is.</p><p>Draco taps his foot impatiently, waiting what feels like an hour, but probably only lasts two minutes. He rings again, then knocks, deciding that if Potter doesn’t open this door in thirty seconds—no, one minute—how about five—minutes, he’ll leave.</p><p>The door swings wide open.</p><p>“Draco,” Harry says, smiling. “You’re here.” Draco almost mentions how he’s been here for the past ten minutes when he notices the wine glasses at the coffee table, and a nicely laid out cheese platter, and the words die in his throat. Harry’s wearing nice fitted pants and a dress shirt, and his usual unruly hair has been combed through. He even shaved his trademark stubble, and for a heartbeat it’s like looking at Harry as he was in Sixth Year, with the same charm and the same slight coldness but not yet broken, not yet the war hero he has become today.</p><p>“Good evening, Harry,” Draco says, stepping inside. He shrugs off his coat, as the weather had recently turned chilly. Harry takes it and sets it on a peg by the door.</p><p>“Some wine?” Harry asks.</p><p>“Really, you didn’t have to,” Draco says quietly, glancing at the romantic set up. It’s a nice gesture, but it only makes Draco’s chest pang painfully, knowing that it all means nothing beyond that closed door.</p><p>“I wanted to.” Harry grabs the bottle of wine, a nice Burgundy that Draco has been fond of lately. He wonders how Harry knew. He pours two glasses, hands one to Draco, who takes it with averted eyes and a murmured thank you.</p><p>“I hadn’t expected this, is all,” Draco says, following Harry over to the couch. They sit down and Draco cuts himself a slice of Manchego. </p><p>“What were you expecting?” Harry asks, in such a casual, innocently curious way that for a moment Draco is fooled that he hadn’t picked up on Draco’s meaning. </p><p>“I only meant—” But then Draco sees the twitch at the corner of Harry’s mouth, the slightest movement, but it’s enough to make Draco blush. “Well, you know what I meant. Don’t play the innocent, Potter, it was never for you.”</p><p>“I've always played the devious heart breaker, I suppose,” Harry says, and it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.</p><p>Draco raises a brow. “I was thinking more along the lines of depressed teenage rebel.”</p><p>“And what does that make you?”</p><p>“The wealthy but secretly emotionally complex and intellectually cultivated heartthrob, of course.” </p><p>Harry laughs. “So not the rich and arrogant bully that falls for the devilishly handsome Chosen One?”</p><p>“Now who’s arrogant,” Draco mutters, but he has to hide a smile in another sip of wine.</p><p>They drink over half the bottle and pick at some more of the cheese and crackers, continuing to talk about nonsense with the easy, always potentially flirty rhythm which Draco remembers fondly of in their late night conversations at Hogwarts. </p><p>How could he have survived the last decade without them? Without this?</p><p>But Merlin, does it feel like no time has passed, that nothing has changed when in fact everything has, everything except this connection, this feeling, this gripping, nauseating, trembling, horrifying feeling of desperation and vulnerability and closeness with the only other person in the world who truly understands him.</p><p>Some things, though, have undeniably changed. They are no longer the young hopeful sixteen year old boys they once were, dreaming of an impossible love story, and instead finding only a brutal, bloody war to greet them. </p><p>Sorrows fade, new hopes grow, and the sun rises every morning and sets every night. Draco does not pretend to believe in fantasies he no longer has the luxury to enjoy. Sometimes a smile is all you get, and if you keep busy looking at the horizon for something bigger, something better, you’ll end up missing it.</p><p>Draco sets his glass down.</p><p>“Harry,” he says, his voice low in his throat and his heartbeat calm and steady from the wine. Harry looks at him, his eyes burning a bright flashing green like the Floo’s fire.</p><p>Draco nods. Harry gets up, helping Draco up off the couch—and it's too late, their hands touch, and Draco can’t stand it, can’t wait another minute, pulling a suddenly quiet, almost solemn Harry closer, kissing him without pretense. </p><p>Sweet and sharp, like the wine. Harry slides an arm around Draco’s waist, a strong hand reaching behind and squeezing. A gasp from Draco only encourages Harry more, and dazedly, his pulse spiking, thudding in his brain right behind the temple, his hips aching to move, to arch against his solid, lean-muscled body, Draco melts into Harry’s arms.</p><p>“Draco, Draco, Draco…” Harry’s voice is more of a groan against his lips, his arms tight around Draco’s body, almost holding his entire weight up. </p><p>Soon Harry can’t resist and he kisses Draco again with more force, his tongue sinking deep into the warmth of Draco’s mouth, their limbs seeming to tangle and grip with a bruising strength, as if just kissing deep enough, long enough, touching everywhere at once, burning everywhere at once, will somehow unite them, make them one and the same torrential force of nature, this embodiment of desire that pulses at the core of everything. </p><p>They pull apart when Draco needs to breathe, and Harry curses, his chest rising and falling rapidly, leaning his forehead on Draco’s. It’s almost too much, after all this time, to kiss and to touch each other like it’s the first time, like they hadn’t nearly done just this that night after the bar, that they hadn’t been both waiting and dreaming and <em> needing </em>this after so many years of nothing.</p><p>Harry leads them up the stairs to his bedroom, not bothering to shut the door, simply lifting a slightly tipsy Draco onto the bed and kissing him messily, one hand on his thigh and the other haphazardly unbuttoning his shirt.</p><p>“Let me,” Draco says, swatting Harry’s hands away and undoing the buttons with frightening speed, lifting his own shirt off roughly and throwing it on the ground, helping Harry shrug off his own shirt, struggle out of pants, dropping them off the side of the bed with a superior irritation, as if clothes aren’t a worthy impedance. There is no time for romance or enticing gestures of slow reveals, just skin on skin, just straight pleasure like a shot of vodka to the back of the throat, eyes stinging at the shock. </p><p>Harry pounces immediately when Draco slips off his briefs, sitting back for just a brief moment completely naked, his skin cold and prickling, and Harry staring, just staring, like he had never seen anyone else, then jump-starting into motion.</p><p>Their bodies collide before their lips do in a mutual effort of domination, Draco twisting around, wanting to straddle his waist, to have Harry under him, but Harry wants that too and he finds a way to pin Draco’s wrists on either side of him, and his mouth descends like a magnet back on Draco’s, sweet and slow and rich like honey, and he never wants it to end.</p><p>Is it everything Draco ever imagined? Is it the unfulfilled hope he’s always held on to as his world burned down in front of his eyes? Is it the beautiful, enchanting happy ending he’s always wanted?</p><p>No, no it’s not. </p><p>But Draco still loves every moment of it, the burning pleasure, the way Harry says his name, eyes shut tight, burying his face in Draco’s neck, lying still, so still, after they finish, as if afraid any slight movement will make it all a dream.</p><p>His heart stirs with Harry wrapped up in him, their legs curled around each other, their breaths mingling, dancing between them shyly, and Draco understands then that this feels more like an end than a beginning. </p><p>Or perhaps the beginning of an end, the start to the last chapter in a sad, sad story.</p><p>Draco just wishes he knew how it ends.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Pansy stares into the fire, watching the flames lick the air, wondering why some people would willingly burn themselves if they knew it would only bring pain.</p><p>“Pansy?”</p><p>She turns. Draco closes the door behind him, looking at her puzzled. The buttons on his shirt are off by one, though Pansy doesn’t point that out. </p><p>“You’re up late,” Draco says absently, slipping his coat off and laying it over the couch.</p><p>“And you’re back late,” Pansy replies. </p><p>Draco pauses on his way to the kitchen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Hermione Granger visited my store the other day,” Pansy says conversationally. “She wanted to buy a new pant suit. And imagine this, a set of lingerie. Bet that Weasley was over the moon.” </p><p>Draco brightens at this. “That’s brilliant, Pansy. Good publicity, and you’ve always fancied her. You must have been over the moon yourself.”</p><p>“I suppose you mentioned me to her?”</p><p>“Well, yes.” Draco’s brows furrow, noticing Pansy’s anger. “But only because she asked how you were doing.”</p><p>“Oh did she?”</p><p>“Yes, Pansy, is that so bad?”</p><p>Pansy smiles grimly. “And tell me, Draco, did she ask any other questions?”</p><p>“Come on—” Draco frowns. “Well, I suppose she did. Now that you mention it, she did seem quite interested in Harry.”</p><p>“You know, Draco, darling, come to think of it, Hermione asked me a few questions too.” Her tone is full of sarcasm, and Draco narrows his eyes.</p><p>“What questions?”</p><p>Pansy pretends to examine her nails, a freshly painted and sharpened black. “Oh, she just wondered if I knew if you and Harry were ever <em> close </em>during Hogwarts.”</p><p>Draco goes pale, and his voice is terse. “Pardon?”</p><p>“You heard me.” Pansy sighs, tired of beating around the bush. “She hasn’t figured it out yet, but Hermione’s the brightest witch of the century. Sooner or later she’ll connect those dots and you will have some explaining to do.”</p><p>“She can’t possibly—”</p><p>“Draco!” Pansy interrupts. “I could see it in her eyes. She knows something more is going on. Merlin, Draco, I <em> told </em>you to be careful.”</p><p>“And what do you suggest I do?” Draco exclaims, exasperated. “If you were in my place, what would you do? If you’re so clever, what do I tell Harry?”</p><p>“You should tell him you won’t be a secret anymore! Back in school it was different, there was a war, and lives were at stake. But now? What excuse does he have?”</p><p>“You don’t understand,” Draco says bitterly. “You don’t understand what it’s like to love someone like this and have them ask you to keep it secret. Would you give it all up? Just to be able to hold hands in public?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I was never in that position,” Pansy lies through gritted teeth. She thinks of Blaise, beautiful, handsome Blaise with his straight teethed smile, those warm, strong hands, gentle against her skin, and his voice, the voice she hears in every dream and every fantasy. </p><p>Everyone has their secret.</p><p>“But we’re not sixteen anymore. You are too old to sneak around scared of gossip while all your friends start to settle down. If Harry keeps you a secret this time around, Draco, that’s not love. I am not trying to hurt you, darling, but I have an objectivity that you do not. He’s ashamed of you, to <em> love </em> you. Can you live with that? Can you live with yourself?”</p><p>“I can’t lose him again,” Draco says, his voice breaking, but she can see in his eyes the fissures of doubt, the pain of love and shame intertwining like a web, an intricate trap, each strand alone a paper cut, but all at once a deep, deep scar. “I would rather have Harry in some way than not at all.”</p><p>Pansy smiles sadly. “Are you sure that’s still true?”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ron sets the kettle on the stove, turning up the heat. He looks over his shoulder at Harry, sitting silently on the couch, staring into space. Recently he’s been very out of it, staying in his apartment more often, rarely stopping by for dinner, and when he does acting quietly and reserved like this.</p><p>He’s been this way since the break up with Ginny.</p><p>“Milk?” Ron asks, just to break the silence. Harry shakes his head. </p><p>Ron sighs, then walks back to the couch, sitting down with a grunt. Ever since Rose’s birth, he swears his lower back has tightened up almost overnight, as if a marker of adulthood and age. He wants to ask Harry if he’s experienced something like this in the last year, but instead what he asks is very different.</p><p>“Say, Harry, do you think you even want kids?”</p><p>Harry looks up, startled. He blinks at Ron, as if the question has dumbfounded him.</p><p>“I mean, if you ever thought about it…” Ron trails off awkwardly, unsure if his question is rude.</p><p>“I guess for the longest time I thought that would never be possible for me. That I would die before I could even think about kids.” Harry pauses, pensive. “And I did die, at the battle.”</p><p>For a moment neither of them speak, then Ron clears his throat. </p><p>“But you’re not dead, Harry,” Ron says quietly. “You’re alive.”</p><p>Harry averts his gaze. “I know.”</p><p>“You’re still young, Harry,” Ron says awkwardly, feeling the dark turn this conversation has taken. “I was just wondering if you were even planning to settle down. I mean, you have time, but…”</p><p>“Not that much time?” Harry finishes wryly. </p><p>Ron smiles sadly. “I thought you and Ginny might make it. Can’t say I was surprised to see it end, though.”</p><p>Harry raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t?”</p><p>Ron shakes his head. “No, not really. I always had the sense your heart was elsewhere.” When Harry tries to interrupt, Ron continues, “I know you love her. But you weren’t <em> in </em>love with her. You never were. I actually always wondered why you two dated for so long.”</p><p>Harry passes a hand over his face, and Ron suddenly notices how exhausted he looks. “Ginny is a wonderful person. She deserves someone better than me.”</p><p>“Why do you say that?” Ron asks, troubled. </p><p>“Come on, Ron,” Harry says, cutting him an irritated glance. “I know I’m not the nicest person. I know I can be selfish and insensitive and rude. She needed someone else, someone different." He’s staring off into space again, and his voice grows quiet. "There are times I wonder…”</p><p>“Wonder what?”</p><p>Harry’s green eyes sparkle in the dim firelight. “There’s a dream I have over and over again. I’m on the Astronomy Tower, and I’m falling over the edge, like my—like Dumbledore did, that night. And then I wake up in another world, and I have everything I always wanted.” He looks almost dreamy, his mouth subconsciously lifting into a smile, and his eyes glazed over like he could see something Ron couldn't.</p><p>“There is no other world, Harry,” Ron says slowly. “This is the only one we’ve got.”</p><p>Harry turns to Ron, and smiles coldly. <em>"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."</em></p><p>The kettle begins to whistle. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. December 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco’s eyelids begin to close with a heaviness only possible after three nights of a few meager hours of sleep. He turns the page of his Potion’s textbook. Snape sure did assign a lot of reading. As a fellow Slytherin he feels this is an injustice. Can’t Snape give him a pass? </p><p>He hears a ruffle behind his curtains, and Draco goes still, grabbing his wand reflexively. </p><p>Blaise usually sleeps elsewhere, so it wouldn’t be him. Draco had thought his other dormmates would be asleep by now, as it is well past midnight. In fact, Draco should be leaving any minute to check on his progress in the Room.</p><p>Suddenly his curtain opens a sliver, and Draco silently points his wand at the opening. Then he sees a ripple in the air and Harry pokes his head in, grinning. Draco lets out the breath he had been holding in irritation.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Draco whispers angrily. Harry shrugs off the rest of his Invisibility Cloak and slips inside the curtains, crawling onto Draco’s bed. He can’t believe Harry Potter is in his bed.</p><p>“I wanted to see you,” Harry says, smirking. He lies down beside Draco, and Draco puts down his textbook, having forgotten about it completely. Harry lifts the side of the covers and slides underneath, his pajama covered legs finding Draco’s and curling around them possessively. “You’re so warm.”</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes, but turns towards Harry nonetheless, their faces scarcely an inch apart on the same pillow. “This is dangerous, Harry.”</p><p>“I love you.” Harry says it so plainly, not like a reason but a fact of life, with a stark surety that belies every doubt and worry Draco has ever had. </p><p>A silence ensues in which the only thing Draco can hear is the pounding of his heart.  </p><p>To anyone else this moment would feel random, maybe even unsentimental, but to Draco it feels terrifyingly right, as if every word and every kiss and every tear before this has naturally led to Harry saying these three words in the dead of night.</p><p>
  <em> This is dangerous.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I love you.  </em>
</p><p>His green eyes look at Draco steadily, waiting. Draco can barely breathe, he has so much to say and so very little time. “I always thought I’d be the one to say it first.” </p><p>Harry’s face stays stoic as he kisses him. Gently, so gently, a hooked finger under Draco’s chin, his lips soft and his tongue slow, and Draco’s heart beats heavily in his chest, like a stampede of centaurs tearing across the forest floor. </p><p>They pull apart reluctantly, messily, breaths mingling. Harry kisses below Draco’s jaw, then his neck, the shifting muscles of his throat, throwing the covers back with one hand and finding the waistband of Draco’s pajamas with deft fingers. </p><p>He looks up through his lashes at Draco, his smile dangerous and dark, and Draco’s breath catches at how beautiful Harry is, his dark curls spilling over his eyes, that smooth tan skin a sea of intimacy, and those lean muscles visibly shifting underneath where his loose long sleeve clings to his arms.</p><p>“Try not to be too loud,” Harry says, before he lowers his mouth down.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco groans when the light beaming through his curtains wakes him up and stings his eyes as he tries to open them. He shifts around in bed, reaching for the covers, and his arm slams into something heavy and solid in his bed.</p><p>“Harry!” Draco hisses, shoving his arm. He looks dead asleep. </p><p>“Mmph.”</p><p>“Wake up, Harry,” Draco whispers, straining his ears to make sure no one else is walking around. Harry groans loudly, then buries himself under the covers, wrapping his strong arms around Draco. </p><p>“More sleep,” Harry mumbles. Draco feels his anxiety ebb with how undeniably adorable Harry is in the morning. He realizes this is the first time they slept through the night together. </p><p>“You need to get dressed.”</p><p>Harry lifts his head, squinting his eyes. “Can I borrow something?”</p><p>“Sure, Harry, and while you’re at it why don’t you wear a Slytherin tie and hold my hand too!” Draco sighs exasperatedly. “Honestly.”</p><p><em> “Honestly,” </em>Harry mimics, ducking his head when Draco shoves the pillow in his face. </p><p>“It’s not a joke.”</p><p>“I’m not joking,” Harry says seriously. </p><p>“You better be joking,” Draco says, narrowing his eyes. </p><p>Harry shrugs. “Why not? It doesn’t have to be holding hands. Say, why don’t you come with me to Slughorn’s Christmas party? I need a date anyway.”</p><p>“You’re really not joking.” Draco shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t be your date, Harry.”</p><p>“Why?” Harry asks, clearly irritated. “Just the other night you got upset that I didn’t want to tell anyone about us, and now that I want to, you get mad?”</p><p>Draco crosses his arms. “That’s different. And I wasn’t mad. I was sad. I was sad because you reacted exactly how I would react. You say you’ll take me to Slughorn’s party, but you won’t. We can’t be together like that. You know that as well as I do.”</p><p>Harry stares at Draco, worrying his bottom lip. Then he nods, averting his eyes. “I wish things were different, that’s all. I just wanted to ask you. Just to…”</p><p>“Just to see how it feels?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Draco sighs. “Okay.” A pause. “Yes, Harry, I’d love to be your date. You can even wear a Slytherin tie.” Harry’s lips quirk, but his shoulders stay drooped. He looks as crushed as Draco feels, though they both knew nothing would come of the conversation. </p><p>Why is it that the things he wants most could only exist in another world?</p><p>Draco nearly opens his mouth to say just this when Harry goes tense all over, and brings a finger up to his lips, before slowly sitting up, alert. He slips his hand over the side of the bed, grabbing his Cloak. It must had fallen to the ground during the night.</p><p>“Draco?” A familiar drawling voice calls out from behind his curtains. Harry silently pulls the Cloak over himself. Draco can almost taste his heartbeat in his throat. </p><p>“Yes, Blaise?” Draco asks tensely, looking at where Harry must be, even though the space where he just was is now completely empty. “I just woke up.”</p><p>Suddenly the curtains are yanked to the side, and Blaise stands at the end in all his glory, shrewdly searching the bed. The light filtering in through the lake shines a halo around Blaise’s smooth, glowing skin.</p><p>He looks sharply at Draco. “I though I heard a voice. Is someone here?”</p><p>Draco tries to look confused. “A voice? Maybe Goyle?”</p><p>Blaise raises an eyebrow. “No. I definitely heard you talking to someone. I thought it sounded like—but it doesn’t matter.” He turns around, his black robes unfurling behind him. “Hurry up and get ready. I’m hungry.”</p><p>Then he leaves the dorm. </p><p>Draco holds his breath, then releases it when the door closes behind him. He reaches out his hand but it falls through empty air. </p><p>“Harry?” Draco says tentatively. </p><p>No answer. He’s gone. Draco sighs deeply. </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Ginny flips idly through her Transfiguration's textbook, feet kicked up on the table in front of her, across from Luna Lovegood reading the latest Quibbler upside down. Ever since Ginny and Harry have stopped seeing each other, she’s realized that he had actually been a type of support system in her life. They had been friends, maybe even <em> best </em>friends. She had told him nearly everything, and now that he was gone, she’s found herself feeling adrift. </p><p>So as of late Ginny has been hanging around Luna, whose calm and peaceful quirks bring a lightness and steadiness to her days that she hasn’t felt in a long time. But Harry stays always on her mind. </p><p>Just then Madam Pince walks resolutely past, a woman on a mission. They both look up distractedly at her soft heels clicking on the wood. </p><p>She doesn’t even spare Ginny a glance. “Feet off the table, Ms. Weasley.”</p><p>Ginny rolls her eyes, but swings her legs down, feet planting on the floor. Luna smiles pleasantly after Madam Pince as if she had greeted them with a good morning instead of a stern reprimand. </p><p>“She has a lovely name, don’t you think?” Luna asks.</p><p>“Pince?” Ginny shrugs. “Not particularly. Sounds a lot like <em> pinch </em>.”</p><p>Luna looks genuinely puzzled. “No. Her name is Irma. It means universe in Old High German. A very beautiful language.” She looks dreamy, but then again, Luna always looks dreamy. </p><p>“Yes, I suppose it is a lovely name,” Ginny says slowly, half in disbelief, the other half intrigued. Luna has always both perplexed her and given her pause. What would it be like to see the world through her eyes?</p><p>“You also have a lovely name,” Luna says, her blue eyes steady but her lips curving in a smile. “Ginevra. It comes from the Welsh <em> gwyn. </em>It means—”</p><p>“Blessed,” Ginny finishes quietly, her mind which has always been a whirlwind of chaos has settled like dust floating down to the ground. “I know. Thank you. And Luna, it means—”</p><p>“Moon.” Luna smirks, and it looks very dangerous on her pale, wispy features. “I know.”</p><p>Ginny stares at her, at the long blonde hair, the milky white skin, the trinkets dangling in her hair and hanging heavily from her necklace, the round eyes that are blue blue blue right on through, like a pool of water you can see straight to the bottom. </p><p>Everything about Luna is so different than Harry, his darkness and smolderning intensity, his agitation, his cool collectedness, his nightmares, his endless stream of sweet lies and poisonous truths. While Harry tears her world apart, Luna simply has to look at her and she steadies it.</p><p>While Harry takes her love, Luna strengthens it. </p><p>Ginny’s mouth parts as if in a subconscious reaction to her thoughts. Luna smiles, as if understanding her realization. </p><p>“Luna,” Ginny says, her voice wavering and coming to a halt.</p><p>“I know,” Luna says simply, sweetly, smoothly. Her voice is like a beacon of truth, a light cutting a clear path through the darkness. She returns to examining her Quibbler. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”</p><p>Ginny stares at her for a moment longer, so stunned she feels no surprise at all, then returns to her textbook. Because she’s right. Ginny is not ready for something else, something new, especially not as new as Luna would be. Harry still lingers on her mind, and there’s that tingling feeling at the base of her neck that warns of an impending doom. </p><p>She kicks up her feet onto the table as she leans back in her chair, and it all hits her in one fell swoop, this realization, Luna’s smile, her pulse a distant soundtrack to the scene unfolding at hand. Girls…</p><p>Ginny knows she has always known even when she has not known. She has always known boys like she knows her hair is red and she has more freckles than she’d care to count. She has always known girls like she knows that one day she will die and yet if you ask her what she knows she couldn’t tell you in words.</p><p>Boys and girls, girls and boys. Sharp jaws, soft curves, rough cheeks, firm hands, pink lips, stern hips. Ginny sees the lines blurring, the world opening up like the dawn of a new age. She remembers seeing Ron seeing Lavender, truly <em> seeing </em> her, and how Ginny saw her too, the rosy cheeks and golden curls, the suppleness of her waist and the trembling of her voice in the air when she says your name like a lone note from a violin. <em> Girls, </em>Ginny had thought. </p><p>Boys, boys, boys. Girls, girls, girls....</p><p>Ginny sighs. Harry might be the storm currently surrounding her, but Luna is the rainbow she earns on the other side, and she’ll just have to accept that for now.</p><p>She begins to read her textbook again, unable to stop the smile on her face. </p><p>“Feet <em> off </em>the table!”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I love you. I love you I love you I love you. </em>
</p><p>How long have those words been circling in Harry’s head like vultures, like dementors waiting for the right moment to Kiss you? How long has he been waiting to say them, to admit them, out loud?</p><p>He stares into the crackling fire of the Gryffindor common room. Almost everyone else has gone to bed, except for Hermione. She hunches over her notes with laser focus, probably for the Potions exam they have tomorrow. </p><p>Harry gave up cramming for it about three hours ago. </p><p>“Oh Harry, why can’t I remember the preparation of the Dreamless Sleep potion?” Hermione complains out loud. She looks off into the distance, biting her lip, her knee bouncing rapidly.  </p><p>“Relax, Hermione. You start with four sprigs of lavender...” </p><p>Hermione sits up. “Oh, right! How could I forget that? Honestly, Harry, I might just fail this exam, I mean a simple <em> Sleeping Draught </em>and I can’t do it? I—”</p><p>“Stop,” Harry says, cutting her off. “You’re tired. You know all of this. You brewed the draught in second year, for Merlin’s sake. Go to bed.” He rubs at his eyes, though it’s more for show. “I think I might call it a night, too.”</p><p>Hermione sighs, and folds up her books. “I am exhausted. A good night’s rest should clear up my mind.” She slings her book bag over her shoulder and walks over to Harry, kissing him on the forehead. “Are you not coming up?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m going. Just going to check a chapter in the book one last time,” Harry lies, smiling. Hermione nods, but he knows she’s suspicious. Ever since he hinted at his secret relationship with Draco, she’s been silent but curious whenever he’s alone. </p><p>“Alright. See you tomorrow.” </p><p>“Goodnight, Hermione.”</p><p>Harry waits a few minutes for her to leave the common room and disappear up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory. Then he checks his Map.</p><p>For a moment his eyes linger on the Headmaster’s Office, where Dumbledore’s footsteps pace back and forth tirelessly. Harry wonders what would happen if he went there now, told him everything about Draco, about the two of them together. </p><p>Would his father accept him? Would he warn him against it? Would he cast him out further than he already has? </p><p>Harry can almost hear his voice, asking <em> “In love with Draco Malfoy?” </em> in that peculiar tone of mild curiosity coupled with a total lack of feeling that Harry has definitely inherited. </p><p>No. He could not do it. There is too much at stake, too much to lose. </p><p>His eyes catch onto another name, a name as familiar to him as his own, walking down the Third Floor corridor to the Room of Requirement. Without a second thought, Harry scrambles off the couch and runs out of the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady’s yelp of protest.</p><p>A faint Lumos lights the way through the darkness of the castle. He doesn’t even care if he gets caught, just wanting to find Draco and to understand, to no longer be in the dark. He takes the staircases two steps at a time, his temples glistening with sweat, and his legs aching from such sudden movement. </p><p>He jumps onto the Third Floor landing with his lungs burning, but he doesn’t pause, instead sprinting down the hall and around the corner to where Draco was just minutes ago. He raises his wand and casts a brighter Lumos, looking around. </p><p>No one. </p><p>He sighs, deflated, when he catches the fading impression of a large, ornate door on the far wall. Harry sprints over, but by the time he gets there, the door is gone and his hands press against the cool stone walls of the castle. </p><p>“Please, open it. I need the Room of Requirement. I need Draco. I know he’s in there,” Harry whispers, his forehead pressed against the wall as if in prayer, his eyes shut tight. But the wall remains stone, and Harry slams his fists against it in a burst of frustration.</p><p>He feels so alone.</p><p>The taste of Draco’s mouth against his is just a faint memory in the heavy darkness of the corridor. He can hardly remember what compelled him to sneak into the Slytherin dormitories that night, to find Draco’s bed, to lay beside him and say <em> I love you.  </em></p><p>Harry can’t decide if he hates Draco or if he just hates the world he’s living in.</p><p>Then he remembers his Potions exam tomorrow, and with his mouth curling in disgust, Harry trudges back to the Gryffindor tower. Someday he will find out what Draco is hiding from him. </p><p>And someday Harry will find another world where it doesn’t matter. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. December 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A beam of light shines across Draco’s sleeping face, turning his eyelashes translucent, highlighting the fine veins in his cheekbones. Harry stares and realizes he is trying to memorize this face, those pale, sharp features, delicate and refined like a carved marble statue.</p><p>Draco begins to stir, as if sensing Harry’s eyes on him. He cracks an eye open.</p><p>“Up already?” he asks groggily. </p><p>“Sorry, I have a charity event in an hour,” Harry says quietly. Draco sits up, yawning. Even such a domestic, simple gesture pains Harry profoundly, like a single small blade to the right spot can sever the spine.</p><p>“Why do you do that?” Draco asks distractedly, leaning against the headboard. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Why do you let the Ministry use you like that?” </p><p>Harry shrugs. “It’s like you said. People look up to me. Children.”</p><p>Draco half smiles. “That’s not why.” </p><p>They stay silent for a few beats, staring at each other. Draco averts his eyes first, sighing. </p><p>“They stop pestering me about being an Auror if I show up and speak at these events,” Harry says, flushing, though he doesn’t know why. </p><p>“You don’t want to be an auror?” Draco looks surprised. “I imagine it’d be much less boring than working these charity balls. They are simply tedious.”</p><p>“Right now the Auror Department doesn’t need fighters, they need healers. People strong enough to mend the deeper scars from the war. The scars I had a hand in making.”</p><p>Draco looks troubled. “Hermione’s a fighter.”</p><p>“I know. But she fights for justice, while I fight against <em> injustice. </em>And, well, there’s a big difference between the two.” </p><p>Another silence ensues, in which both of them look anywhere else except at each other. Finally Draco sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. </p><p>“You said you would have been a teacher, once,” Draco says quietly. </p><p>“Yes,” Harry says, “I remember.” He remembers the cold wind on the Astronomy Tower that night, the same cold wind he feels on his face in the dreams where he falls over the edge. </p><p>Draco frowns, as if reading his thoughts. “Why don’t you try now?”</p><p>“I don’t know if I could go back after what happened.” Harry pauses. “After what I let happen.” Draco flinches ever so slightly. </p><p>Harry recalls Hogwarts like a dream of another life, hazy and slow like an old Wizard photograph, the picture clouded with wear and exposure, the movement sluggish as if underwater. He remembers even before Hogwarts was his school, when it was his home first. Dumbledore had decided he was old enough to leave that cottage deep in the woods, the safehouse that always felt like a prison, that Hogwarts would be safe enough from then on. Harry has only vague memories of that time wandering the castle alone at night, sneaking into the kitchens where Lucy would give him a cup of steaming hot chocolate, climbing his way up to the Astronomy Tower to look out over the vast lake glimmering under the moonlight, cupped in the palm of the greenest valley he had ever seen. </p><p>Even then, Dumbledore had rarely been around. And if Harry went back now, he would be painfully reminded that Dumbledore would never be around again.</p><p>No, he could not go back and teach at Hogwarts, his first and last home, the place of his beginning and his end. </p><p>“You couldn’t have saved him,” Draco says. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to.”</p><p>“I know,” Harry replies, and the memory of Dumbledore falling flashes through his mind, except this time it’s not Dumbledore, it’s him, falling and falling and falling, into another world.</p><p>“Do you?” Draco sounds concerned. </p><p>Harry smiles, but his heart aches. “I do know. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Draco takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. </p><p>“Come in!” calls a voice from the inside. “Good morning, Draco.” Hermione smiles brightly at him, and it terrifies him. Why is she so happy? Shouldn’t she hate him? Maybe she doesn't know, maybe Pansy was wrong. Draco can only hope. </p><p>“Morning,” he says curtly, too nervous to say much more. </p><p>Hermione hardly notices. “You know, I went to Pansy’s store the other day. It was just wonderful! She picked out this beautiful blue pantsuit, and these—”</p><p>“I know,” Draco says a little coldly. “She told me.”</p><p>“Oh.” Hermione looks startled, then curious. “Are you two dating? I was wondering.”</p><p>“No.” He sounds harsh, even to his ears. </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Draco’s cheeks burn. “She’s just a friend.”</p><p>Hermione smiles, but it’s awkward. “I’m sure.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Draco asks pointedly. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, and he hears a strange ringing sound in his ears. Is this it? Is this the end of everything he ever loved?</p><p>“Draco…” Hermione hesitates, eyes averted to the ground, then sighs. “Well, she’s not exactly your type, is she?”</p><p>Suddenly it’s as if all the oxygen has returned to the room. Draco can breathe, though he does blush intensely at her observation. “I’m afraid I am rather not inclined towards…”</p><p>“Women?”</p><p>“<em> ... </em> towards <em> her,” </em>Draco finishes, standing a little taller, flushing brighter. Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Regardless, we are ill suited for that. She prefers brunettes to blondes.”</p><p>Hermione laughs, unexpectedly. She covers her mouth quickly, then nods, trying to compose herself. “Right, naturally.”</p><p>Draco lets himself smile, at least for today. She doesn’t know for sure, and Hermione’s too nice and too thorough to ask such a dangerous question without being positive that her theory is correct.</p><p>“I was wondering though…” Hermione begins. “Is Pansy seeing anyone?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Draco says, glad to have the spotlight on someone else. “I suppose she always has some fling going on, though she’s never serious about them; she has always been quite reserved about those types of things.”</p><p>Hermione raises an amused brow. “Must be a Slytherin trait.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Draco says, tightly. </p><p>“I did think she and Zabini made a lovely couple,” Hermione muses. </p><p>“Zabini?” The name resurfaces memories from long ago, huddled by the fire in the Slytherin common room to keep the dungeon’s chill away, whispering about their boys, debating who had a better smile, or who was sexier. “That was ages ago.”</p><p>“Yes, it was, wasn’t it,” Hermione says softly, and Draco realizes a second too late where this conversation has stumbled into. He stands frozen, unable to move, not even to speak. “You know, I was almost sad to hear they ended. I suppose the war had an effect on Slytherins that most people could scarcely imagine. Sometimes, though, I wonder if Pansy saw him all these years later, if they would find their way to each other. It sounds like something out of a book, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“It does,” Draco says tersely. </p><p>“Anyway,” Hermione says, shrugging, “enough with the past. It’s the future we get paid to worry about. Speaking of, the raid went beautifully. We recovered some rare and extremely dangerous artifacts, which you can freely examine if you wish. There is an item we need your help with. A vial, actually. We suspect it’s illegal, though you never know for sure.”</p><p>And just like that, she moves on, and Draco must too. He doesn’t understand why she brought it up only to beat around the bush. To scare him? To threaten him?</p><p>Hermione continues to speak animatedly, with a serious attentiveness and a generous respect for such a Death Eater as him. He can’t imagine she’d want to harm him, even if he prefers men over women, even if he’s in love with Harry Potter.</p><p>Maybe, just maybe, could she be trying to warn him?</p><p>Maybe all along Draco has been worried that other people would find out and they would hate him for loving Harry, and for Harry loving him. But maybe all along Draco should have been worried about <em> Harry, </em> about <em> his </em>love and respect. </p><p>He thought with a damning certainty like a noose around his neck that he would rather have Harry any way he possibly could than not have him at all. </p><p>But Pansy’s question lingers in his mind. <em> Are you sure that’s still true? </em></p><p>Draco isn’t sure anymore. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ron drops his shirt onto the ground.</p><p>“Ron, don’t you dare.”</p><p>He sighs and picks it up, then drops it into the laundry basket. Hermione raises a brow at him, before taking her own shirt off and throwing it into the basket as well. </p><p>She expertly unclips her bra from behind, sighing as it comes off. She stands there with her breasts bare in the dim bedroom light, just in her plain nude underwear, closing her eyes briefly as if needing a moment in the dark to bear the weight of exhaustion. </p><p>And to Ron in that moment, she is the most beautiful woman in the world. </p><p>Hermione shifts, cracking her back. “Could you massage my lower back? I think I pulled a muscle carrying Rose all day at the park.”</p><p>Suddenly Ron remembers his conversation with Harry. “That reminds me. I wanted to tell you what Harry told me the other day.”</p><p>Hermione’s attention perks up. “Harry? What did he say?”</p><p>“We were talking about him settling down and having kids. He said something weird, though. Got me worried.”</p><p>“Worried?” Hermione looks frightened, knowing that most things Harry related rarely <em> worry </em>Ron, so this must have been serious. </p><p>“He talked about this dream he keeps having,” Ron says.</p><p>“A dream? That can’t be good.”</p><p>“He said he kept falling over the Astronomy Tower, like Dumbledore did. And he also said something about finding another world, and then he mentioned death being an adventure. He sounded mental, Hermione. Mental.”</p><p>Hermione stares off into space, pensive and very still. </p><p>“You don’t think…” Ron begins hesitantly, “...that he’d try…”</p><p>“To end his life?” Hermione finishes gravely. She meets his eyes, and they are sad and heavy. “I don’t know, Ron.” They sit in silence for a moment longer before Hermione’s head jerks up. “Wait, did you say he talked about finding another world?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Hermione’s voice raises urgently. “In his dream. Did he say he wanted to find another world?”</p><p>“Yes! Don’t be so loud, you’ll wake up Rose,” Ron says. </p><p>“That’s it!” Hermione exclaims despite Ron’s shushing, and she runs out of the bedroom in nothing but her underwear.</p><p>“Hermione? What is it?” Ron asks in a hushed voice, following after her. He finds her in their joint office in the attic, her face hovering over their Ministry borrowed Pensive. She has a strange smile on her face that the glow of the water illuminates in an eerie blue, the blue of past voices on the wind, lost footsteps at the door, forgotten moments in time. </p><p>Hermione holds up a vial with a silvery glimmer pooled at the bottom. She smirks. “A memory.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. December 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The dream always starts the same way. </p><p>Harry is walking up the stairs. It’s dark, but the moon casts everything in an eerie glow. His steps are silent as they continue up the endless staircase, up and up and up, an indefinite amount of time that feels like infinity but also just a second. He wonders where he is going, even though he already knows, like a premonition. </p><p>Hogwarts watches him as he ascends to the top of the Astronomy Tower. </p><p>It’s empty. He walks across, the metal platform creaking under his weight. He can see the constellations. He can see Draco, faint on the horizon.</p><p>He has a reason to be here, but he doesn’t know it yet. He is older, that he does know. Everything goes calmer, stiller, like a Muggle photograph. Harry walks over to the edge and suddenly he remembers. </p><p>Another world. He’s trying to find another world. </p><p>Harry stares at the bottom of the tower, at the green grass below that suddenly darkens and expands into a bottomless pit. What awaits him? </p><p>His hands grip the railing tightly, the knuckles white. This is where the dream gets interesting. </p><p>Beneath his hands the railing begins to crumble, turning to ash and floating away. Harry leans over, but doesn’t fall. He wants to fall. He has a reason to fall. </p><p>A name calls out to him, but it is far away, underwater, and he doesn’t recognize it. And it doesn’t matter. Somewhere else awaits him. <em> Beyond.  </em></p><p>Harry lets himself fall. </p><p>As he falls, Harry feels the wind against his cheeks, his stomach drop as his body plummets like a stone through the air, and the darkness rushes up to greet him.</p><p>Down, down, down...He has never felt so weightless. </p><p>Then he wakes up, and for a brief moment, he’s in another world. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ginny sees Harry curled by the fire, studying his Potions textbook, his Map lying protectively across his lap. He looks exhausted, his face gaunt and tense. She misses his charming smile, the one that always made her shiver, and she couldn’t tell if she was terrified or turned on. </p><p>She walks over to him before she changes her mind. </p><p>“Hey,” she says, sitting down on the ground beside him. Harry looks up at her, surprised. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Harry puts his textbook down. “Nothing, really.”</p><p>“Didn’t know you were so interested in Potions.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “I’m not.”</p><p>Ginny grins, and for a brief moment she sees a glimmer of the old Harry in his eyes, sharp and witty and prowling like a lion hidden in tall grass. “I wanted to talk with you.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“Us.”</p><p>Harry looks confused. “Aren’t you dating Dean?”</p><p>“Not that, idiot.” Ginny playfully shoves his arm. “Like, as friends.”</p><p>“Friends?” Harry’s mouth quirks.</p><p>“You know what I mean. I want to go back to what we were, without the…”</p><p>“Benefits?”</p><p>“Merlin, Harry, is that all you can think about?” Ginny shakes her head, exasperated. Still, she misses banter like this, the natural energy that sparks between them. She knows she won’t find anything quite like it with anyone else. “I miss my best friend. I feel like ever since we ended that part of our relationship I ended up losing all of you.”</p><p>Harry stares at her with his usual intensity, his green eyes bright, reflecting tendrils of fire. With gentle fingers he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. </p><p>“Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake,” Harry says quietly. </p><p>Her breath leaves her lungs. “Harry.”</p><p>He half-smiles. “You’re too good for me. We both know it.”</p><p>Ginny remembers seeing Harry on the Astronomy Tower with Draco, the way his eyes went dark, his smile vicious. How Draco had seen the darkness in him that she had always been able to see, that she had always wanted to save, somehow. </p><p>But she can’t save him, not now and not ever. </p><p>“You know that if you ever needed me, Harry, all you have to do is ask.”</p><p>He nods silently, then kisses her cheek absently, like he’s trying not to listen, trying not to understand her full meaning. She grabs his wrist and holds him steady.</p><p>“Harry, promise me. Promise me if everything goes to hell you won’t go there too. Promise me you’ll find me first and you’ll lean on me for as long as you need.” She looks into his eyes urgently, and he averts his gaze. “Promise me.” Her voice shakes. </p><p>“I promise,” he murmurs. </p><p>“Good.” Ginny sighs. “You look exhausted. Are you sleeping?”</p><p>“Nightmares.”</p><p>“What about a Sleeping Draught?”</p><p>Harry shrugs. “Can’t get them all the time.” He hesitates. “And I think...I think it might have some side effects, from relying on it for so long.”</p><p>Ginny’s brows furrow. “Side effects? Like what?”</p><p>“My dreams. I...I have the same one, all the time. I know it’s not from Voldemort, somehow, or any dark magic, but still. I can’t tell if it’s normal or not.”</p><p>She knows it’s not normal, but then again, when has anything in Harry’s life been normal? “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. If it’s not from You Know Who, then it’s probably just stress.”</p><p>Harry nods, but he looks unconvinced. </p><p>“You should sleep,” Ginny repeats. </p><p>“I will.”</p><p>She hesitates, wondering if she should warn him, to be more careful. “Harry…”</p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p>“You’re not wandering around the castle at night, are you?”</p><p>Suddenly Harry is very alert, looking at Ginny in alarm. “No. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Well, it’s just...I heard you, one night. When I was sleeping in Dean’s bed. You got up and I heard the door open and you left. I thought maybe you went to the bathroom, but no one was there.”</p><p>Harry stares at her, and says nothing. He doesn’t have to; she knows exactly what he was doing. She prays that he will come clean. </p><p>“And I know you have a little...obsession with Malfoy,” she continues hesitantly. He tenses. His mouth works, as if he’s considering what it would be like to confess his love for Draco, but then his mouth settles into a frown, and she sighs. </p><p>“I just want you to be careful,” she says sadly, knowing then that he will not confide in her with this. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says, reluctantly. “You’re one of a kind, Ginny Weasley.”</p><p>She smiles, but it only hurts. “So are you, Harry Potter.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Hermione stares at the fire, mesmerized by it the way only flickering orange flames can hypnotize the human mind. She should be studying, but recently she’s lost some motivation. Part of her just can’t stop wondering what Ron is up to. </p><p>Of course, she still aces all her exams.</p><p>Beside her on the couch Harry yawns. Hermione turns to him. He had been sleeping with his stupid Map draped open across his chest like a blanket and his stupid Potions textbook across his face like an eye mask. Now he stretches his arms, reflexively looking at his Map and scanning it expertly. </p><p>“So,” Hermione says loudly, and Harry looks at her, startled. “I heard you and Ginny made up.” She smiles at him encouragingly. </p><p>“We weren’t really fighting,” Harry says, frowning. </p><p>“Still, it’s good that you guys are friends again.”</p><p>Harry shrugs. </p><p>Hermione smiles but she’s sure he sees right through it to the worry that she feels. He’s been more down lately, and it’s quite obvious to anyone who cares to look. She makes a mental note to ask if he’s even showered. </p><p>She remembers that secret love he’s harboring, but doesn’t dare bring it up. Instead, she asks if he’s sleeping well. He narrows his eyes at her. </p><p>“What?” she asks defensively. </p><p>“Nothing,” Harry says uneasily. “It’s just, Ginny asked me the same thing.”</p><p>“You look awful,” Hermione replies bluntly. </p><p>“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry runs a hand subconsciously through his hair. “I have nightmares.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow. “That’s nothing new.”</p><p>Harry rolls his eyes. “Exactly.”</p><p>“But seriously, what’s going on? You haven’t been yourself lately.”</p><p>He looks away with a frown. “Nothing, really.”</p><p>Hermione hesitates. “Is it…”</p><p>“Don’t.” He glares at her. “And it’s not that, not really...I keep having this dream. Over and over again. It’s not really a nightmare, exactly. But I die, each time, falling off the top of the Astronomy Tower.”</p><p>Hermione tries to suppress a gasp of fright. “Do you think it’s You Know Who?”</p><p>Harry shakes his head, pensively staring ahead at nothing. “No. No, his dreams feel different. Heavy, and painful. This…”</p><p>“But you die.”</p><p>“It’s not like that.”</p><p>“Then what is it like?”</p><p>Harry pauses, closing his eyes. The Adam’s apple in his throat shifts when he swallows. “I feel very light, like I’m falling but I <em> want </em>to fall. And the weirdest part…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>His lips curve into an odd smile. “I know it’s going to happen. I can sense that it’s me, at some other time. I don’t know when, but it’s real. That’s how I die.”</p><p>Hermione’s stomach clenches, and her heart beats very fast. “Harry…” she starts. “You’re not…?”</p><p>Harry laughs, but it chills her to the core. “I don’t think it happens soon." He looks at her with a fake curiosity. "But don’t you think it’s a strange dream?”</p><p>“Yes, Harry, very strange.”</p><p>“You know, the ending is the best part...” his voice is smooth like a storyteller’s. </p><p>“Merlin,” she whispers under her breath. </p><p>Harry has an almost dreamy look on his face. “After I fall, right before I wake up, I’m in another world, and for a moment in this other world, I’m truly happy.” Then he sighs. “But it’s just a dream, right?”</p><p>Hermione nods, but she’s terrified. “Yes. Just a dream.”</p><p>But she knows this too well, and so does he: nothing with Harry is ever just a dream. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. December 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ron stares at Hermione, slightly terrified. She doesn’t blame him. Here she is, nearly ten o’clock when they both have early starts tomorrow morning, barely dressed, holding up a vial of a memory she tucked away in her cabinets long ago.</p><p>“A memory?” Ron repeats.</p><p>She nods, and beckons him over. “This might come as a shock to you, but Harry had a secret relationship at Hogwarts that we didn’t know about.” </p><p>“What?!” </p><p>Hermione shushes him sternly, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. With some luck Rose can’t hear him all the way up in the attic. “Yes, he told me he was in love with someone he couldn’t have, but refused to tell me who. But I’m so close to figuring it out. I just need to know for sure.”</p><p>“Hold on,” Ron says, his mouth working as if trying to figure out how to begin. “Harry told you this? And you never told me?”</p><p>“It was during Sixth Year,” Hermione says pointedly, to which Ron smiles sheepishly. “Exactly. We weren’t on speaking terms at the time, and then by the end of the year, Harry and Ginny were dating again and I forgot all about it.”</p><p>“Why would he never tell us?” Ron asks out loud, then shakes his head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he had a reason.” He scratches at his stubble. “If he loved someone, why did he date Ginny?”</p><p>“That’s what got me so confused,” Hermione continues animatedly, her mind whirring a minute faster than the words could come out of her mouth. “He did say that he could never <em> have </em>them. So at the time I thought it was a harmless crush from afar, but now I think it was something more. And...” Hermione hesitates, wondering if she should tell Ron her theory just yet. </p><p>He raises an eyebrow. “And?”</p><p>“And...I think it might have something to do with Draco.”</p><p>“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” Ron repeats incredulously. “Like, a love triangle?”</p><p>Hermione looks down at the blue memory swirling within the glass. “Possibly. But I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Then what? They never got along in school.”</p><p>“No,” Hermione says distractedly, remembering the memory of them fighting in Professor Slughorn’s class, “they didn’t…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“But they have history. I think it has something to do with Voldemort, but I have nothing solid.” </p><p>“You mean that he really was a Death Eater in the end?” Ron asks, brows furrowed.</p><p>Hermione shakes her head, sighing. It’s too early to voice the very tentative theory she has begun forming. Not without concrete evidence. “Maybe.”</p><p>Ron rolls his eyes. “Well, I know you have an idea what’s going on, but if you can’t tell me yet, that’s alright. Now, what’s in the memory and why is it important?”</p><p>Hermione's cheeks flush at his investment in her thoughts. Merlin, it never gets old. “A Christmas party, last year. Ginny and I, we were talking about my pregnancy. I think we broke the news to family at the party.” Hermione pours the memory into the Pensive, watching the blue tendrils curl in the silvery white liquid. “What he told you, Harry, that is, about finding another world...it reminded me of this conversation.”</p><p>Ron nods, his eyes wide. “I trust you.” Her heart warms at the words, and she holds out her hand. He takes it with a small smile, and they fall headfirst into the memory.</p><p>At first, nothing. Then, lights, red and green and gold, glittering against the walls. Hermione squeezes Ron’s hand, and he squeezes back.</p><p>The rest of the memory unfolds around them, the living room of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s new home after the war and Fred’s death, the fire roaring to life across the room, and then the partygoers, memory Ron and Harry chatting against the far wall in the corner, Molly and Arthur sitting on the couch playing with Bill and Fleur’s children, the rest of the Weasley brothers scattered around the house, chatting with other notable guests like Shacklebolt, Aberforth, Padma Patil, Cho Chang, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. And many others, laughing until their cheeks go red and drinking red wine until they start dancing to Celestina Warbeck, bring warmth and vibrance and noise to the memory all at once.</p><p>And then Ginny appears, right in front of memory Hermione, a glass of wine in one hand. She’s wearing a slim fitting pink dress, and she had recently cut all her hair off so it was cropped close to her head, making her blue eyes large and bright in her freckled face. </p><p>The Hermione in the memory is slightly thinner, though no less curvier, in a wine red jumper that she knew Ron loved, especially from behind, which is where they are watching the memory from now.</p><p>He elbows her, whistling. “Love that jumper.”</p><p>“Oh I know,” Hermione says, to which Ron smirks. “Now pay attention.”</p><p>And sure enough, the memory begins to focus, like a camera lens honing into the main actor on screen, and the noise of the party fades to the background as Hermione and Ginny’s voices raise in volume, clear and familiar. </p><p>“I can’t believe you’re gonna have a <em> baby,” </em>Ginny says with a grin, touching Hermione’s arm affectionately. “Sometimes I forget we aren’t still sixteen and at Hogwarts.” Her smile falters, just a little. It hurt Hermione to see it then, just as it does now. The war took so much it’s hard to find something it left whole and unscarred, even something as beautiful and joyful as new life.</p><p>“I know,” Hermione in the memory replies. “But enough about me. How about you? And Harry? Do you think you’ll get married soon?”</p><p>Ginny’s mouth twists. “No.”</p><p>Hermione remembers feeling shocked, as they had been dating nearly ten years, and she looked it too, her mouth falling open before recovering with her brows furrowed. “No? You don’t want to settle down? Have a family? I mean, if you’ve changed your mind I understand, but I just thought...you always talked in school about…”</p><p>Ginny shrugs. “Yes, of course. I haven’t changed my mind.”</p><p>“So…?”</p><p>“Harry,” Ginny says, as if that explains everything.</p><p>“He doesn’t want that?” Hermione asks, sounding a little sad. She wasn’t exactly surprised to hear this. Harry had always been reserved and isolated, though always charming even if it was cold and slightly hostile. On his good days, she could imagine a future for him with a wife and kids, but on the bad days…</p><p>“No, he does.” Ginny hesitates. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”</p><p>“You two and complicated,” Hermione says wryly. “You know, I never understood why you two broke up, in Sixth Year. It didn’t make sense. I thought maybe you didn’t want to tell me, being Harry’s friend and all.”</p><p>Ginny glances across the room at Harry, who is still talking with Ron. They seem to be laughing over something. Harry sees them looking and raises his glass, a small smile on his face that Hermione notices now doesn’t quite reach his eyes. </p><p>“Harry,” Ginny says with a sigh, “is my best friend. I will always love him. And I know he loves me. But…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>She smiles sadly. “Harry put his faith and love in someone who broke it. He will forever blame himself for it. He will forever yearn for some other world where that never happened. And I will forever be the healer of a heartbreak that will never go away.”</p><p>Suddenly the memory rushes away in a loud blur like a wave crashing over their heads, and they rise together with a gasp as if they had been holding their breaths. Ron stares at Hermione, stunned.</p><p>“At the time,” Hermione says in a low voice, “I had thought it was about Dumbledore. But it wasn’t. That’s clear enough to me now.”</p><p>“But what about Draco? How’s he involved?”</p><p>Hermione bites her lip. “Maybe they were friends?”</p><p>“Friends?” Ron echoes. He scratches his red hair. “I find that hard to believe, but then again, Harry had a lot of secrets.”</p><p>“Everyone has secrets.”</p><p>They stare at each other in pensive silence before Ron yawns big and loud. “I dunno what’s going on here, love, but I need to go to bed. If anyone can figure this out, you can. And you will, but not tonight.”</p><p>Hermione relents, putting away the Pensive and following Ron back to the bedroom. She thinks she understands, now, but she’s still not certain, and in something like this she would have to be absolutely certain. </p><p>Maybe she should tell Ron, though. After all, who knows Harry as well as Hermione and Ginny? She’s about to tell him that she thinks, no she <em>knows</em>—but then Ron starts to snore softly, and Hermione smiles to herself, sighing. </p><p>Soon, she has a feeling, this will all be clear as day. Soon, but not tonight. And for once, as she settles into bed beside the man she loves in the house she has made a home with a family, that’s perfectly okay.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Harry knows it could not have lasted.</p><p>This truce they had between them, a momentary peace where they could forget their past mistakes, their past betrayals and past losses. Harry had known his time with Draco was short, so preciously short.</p><p>But not this short. </p><p>Harry had been gambling with Draco, taking a shot in the dark and hoping it would land. He had gone crazy, since the moment he saw Draco at the charity ball, his pale face and grey eyes scanning the room and finding his like two magnets. Couldn’t keep away, like a moth drawn to the flame. </p><p>No wonder he got burned. </p><p>For the last month or so they had stolen as many moments, day or night, together, as they could, making up for lost time. Ten whole years of it. They never reached the same comfort as in school, where their innocence and eagerness colored their passion, but Draco was there in his arms, warm and pliant and real, his smell on the pillows a mark he could not fabricate even in his wildest, drunkest dreams. </p><p>He was <em> there.  </em></p><p>And now he wasn’t. He will never be again, that Harry knows, and it hurts so much that it doesn’t hurt at all, his whole body numb, numb, numb, all feeling lost in the bottom of a glass of tequila, the rest of him washed on the shore of utter heartbreak.</p><p>How quickly had Draco slipped through his fingers? And, if he thinks about it, did he ever really have him to begin with?</p><p>Earlier this morning, after a night no less passionate than others, Harry had woken up beside Draco who was sitting up, back flush against the headboard.</p><p>“Good morning,” Harry had mumbled, stretching. He remembers how Draco had glanced away, frowning, his shoulders tense. It was an unmistakable sign. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>Draco had bit his lip. “It’s nothing. I should go.” He slid out of bed, avoiding Harry’s searching gaze, slipping on his clothes from the night before.</p><p>“You can wear something of mine,” Harry had said, quietly, and Draco had stared at him with an unreadable expression. “If you want.”</p><p>“And if someone recognizes it as yours?” Draco asked sharply. Harry was reminded of that night in the Slytherin dorms, all those years ago, the <em> I love you </em>and asking for a Slytherin tie. How simple, really, and yet how complicated, and dangerous.</p><p>Things were different, now. But maybe not enough. Harry stayed silent.</p><p>“Thought so,” Draco said tersely. He grabbed his wand and stormed out of the room. After a beat, Harry hurried after him, haphazardly pulling on a pair of joggers. He went down the steps quickly, looking to stop Draco before he Apparated, but he found him seated on the couch, head in his hands. </p><p>“Draco?” Harry asked tentatively. </p><p>He looked up, and his eyes were rimmed red. Draco hastily wiped away the tears and stood up. “Don’t, Harry. Please.”</p><p>“I don’t understand. I thought we agreed…” </p><p>Draco laughed harshly. “You’re right. You don’t understand a thing.”</p><p>Harry felt oddly calm, the same feeling he had the moment before he died all those years ago, standing before Voldemort’s red eyes. Right before the flash and everything went white, like the center of a star.</p><p>“You said you wanted to keep this a secret,” Harry said slowly.</p><p>Draco stared hard at him. “Yes. I wanted to keep this a secret because <em> you </em>did. No other reason.”</p><p>“And what? You’re starting to doubt that decision?” Harry asked, and his voice betrayed him by trembling ever so slightly. </p><p>“Yes, Harry! I am. Is that so hard to believe? Is it such a crime? That I want something more than this? That I want to love you openly and to stop hiding myself for you?”</p><p>“What do you want? Do you want me to go on the radio and announce that we’re together? It’s nobody’s business what I do in private,” Harry said coldly. </p><p>“But it’s not private. It’s secret.” Draco turned away. “And you’re ashamed of it. Of me.”</p><p>“I’m not ashamed of you, Malfoy.” <em> I’m ashamed of myself. </em>But he didn’t say that. He simply watched the storm wreck everything he ever loved. It was easier, to let the pain sink into his skin like small daggers of glass.</p><p>It was easier, still, to bleed than to open his heart up completely, to see in himself someone worth loving, someone Draco, lovely, lovely Draco, would look at and love despite the darkness that eats at his soul, day and night.</p><p>“Whatever,” Draco said, flushed. He wasn’t going to beg, Harry knew well. His pride was already hurting. “Do what you want. But don’t pretend that this is real.”</p><p>“I’ve always preferred fantasies over reality,” Harry said through clenched teeth. </p><p>“Are they fantasies? Or are you just lying to yourself?”</p><p>Harry stared at Draco, stunned, and didn’t answer for a long time. Then, “What do you want, Draco? Because it seems like you’re lying to yourself just as much as me.”</p><p>The words stung Draco like a slap, and he flinched. He started for the door in a mechanical movement of limbs, as if on autopilot, his face blank. He had lost not only the battle but the war as well, and like a good soldier, Harry knew it too. And like a good Malfoy, Draco knew when to surrender.</p><p>“I’d better go. Pansy’s waiting.”</p><p>Harry didn’t ask when he would see Draco next. Somehow, this hurt more than everything else.  </p><p>Draco left without saying goodbye, and then Harry doesn’t remember much after that.</p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>“We’re worried about him, Ginny.”</p><p>Ginny sighs. Aren’t they always worried about Harry? She can’t exactly blame them either. Merlin knows how many nights she lied awake, her stomach a nervous knot, praying he made it through the night. </p><p>“What happened?” Ginny asks wearily. Hermione and Ron’s faces in her camping tent’s fireplace share a look. </p><p>“Nothing happened, exactly,” Ron says. </p><p>“Not that we know of, at least,” Hermione amends. “But he hasn’t left the flat in five days. Rarely leaves his bed to answer our fire calls. We tried to come over and find out what’s wrong, but he was always either asleep or drunk.”</p><p>“He’s depressed,” Ron says bluntly. </p><p>Ginny briefly closes his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to do. Luna and I are traveling to Nepal tonight.”</p><p>Hermione looks at her sympathetically. “We just thought you should know. You’ve always known how to deal with him, and he just won’t listen to anything we say.”</p><p>“And you don’t know what happened to get him like this?”</p><p>They stay silent, then Hermione looks at Ron, who nods. “I’m gonna check on Rose real quick,” Ron mutters, then his face disappears from the flames. Hermione remains, looking anxious. </p><p>Something in her face made Ginny pause. “What do you know, Hermione?”</p><p>She bites her lip. “I think...he said a lot, when we were with him. Mostly drunken nonsense. But sometimes...he would say Draco’s name. And he would say that he could see him in—in another world. The one he always...”</p><p>"The one he always talks about."</p><p>Ginny breathes in deeply to stop herself from panicking. Her worst nightmare, come to life. She remembers Harry’s arms around him, so long ago now she can’t remember where they were, or what she had been doing, when he had nearly collapsed in her arms, dry heaving sobs, clinging to her desperately as if the world around him was collapsing. </p><p>But she remembers the weight of him in her arms, the utter dependency, and how she held him up, kissed his cheek, asked him what happened, but he just shook his head, over and over and over again, like a child, tears running freely down his face, and all he could say is <em> I need you. I promised. I need you. Help me. </em>She knew then that Draco and Harry had crashed and burned, finally, a collision of light and dark, day and night, pale cheeks and ink black curls, just like she knew they would. </p><p>
  <em> I need you.  </em>
</p><p>Ginny knows that Draco and Harry have been spending time together again recently, that much is certain. She had hoped that this time…</p><p>That this time she wouldn’t need to save him. And then a voice asks quietly and dangerously and clearly in the back of her mind, almost a whisper and yet as loud as the truth, and it sounds like Luna right before she points to the stars.</p><p>
  <em> What if you can’t save him this time? </em>
</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. December 1996</h2></a>
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    <p>Draco lifts the covers from his bed, though if he had the choice, he’d rather stay within their warmth tonight. </p><p>But he doesn’t have a choice. Or at least, as he looks down at his Dark Mark that is almost visible beneath his thin cotton pajamas, he made the choice a long time ago.</p><p>He walks towards the Room of Requirement. Draco could find it with his eyes closed, and it always reveals itself to him. Sometimes he wonders how that is possible, since the Castle must know he isn’t up to anything good in its room of lost things. But the Room answers him every time. </p><p>Draco turns down the corridor when he hears a noise, ever so slight, a scuffle of robes brushing the floor, that anyone less alert and suspicious would have missed. He pauses and then keeps walking. </p><p>Who could it be? </p><p>But he already knows who it is. </p><p>Angrily, feeling betrayed but at this point just more exhausted, Draco continues walking down the corridor swiftly, stopping in front of the wall and closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath in. If Harry wants to play this game, then so be it, Draco will play—though he won’t play fair, that’s for sure. A Malfoy never stops being a Malfoy, even while fraternizing with the enemy.</p><p>
  <em> I am lost. I am lost I am lost I am lost. </em>
</p><p>A large, dark oak door materializes in front of him. He can almost hear another heart beat just a little faster, so close he thinks Harry might be right behind him. </p><p>Draco opens the door, ignoring the gentle swoosh of air from behind as a certain invisible someone sneaks through the quickly closing gap. Discreetly, Draco grabs hold of his wand, just the end beneath his robes. He walks several paces into the room so as not to appear suspicious, then suddenly he turns, casting a wordless <em> Revelio </em> charm that rips away the Cloak from Harry’s body, then an <em> Expellarmius </em>that sends Harry’s wand flying out of his hand before he can cast anything. </p><p>Draco's blood boils. “How dare you,” he says through clenched teeth, still pointing the wand at Harry’s face, “how dare you follow me after I told you to trust me.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth flattens in that line Draco found so mysterious that one day, eternities ago, before this whole thing got so out of hand. Now he wants to slap that controlled emotionless frown right off his face. </p><p>“Put your wand away, Draco,” Harry says coldly. </p><p>“Why should I? It seems the only person in my way...is you. If you won’t let me do this, well, you leave me no choice.”</p><p>Harry raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, Draco? Kill me?”</p><p>Draco laughs, but it is harsh and Harry flinches.  He feels his body hum at the reaction. “No, I’ll leave that to the Dark Lord. But perhaps I could hurt you enough to land you in St. Mungo’s for a few weeks—until Christmas break, at least. I don’t need much longer than that. Or maybe a <em> Petrificus Totalus? </em>It wouldn’t be the first time, now would it?”</p><p>“Draco, listen to me—”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“—I only want to help, but you keep pushing me away! How else was I going to help you if I didn’t find out what you needed help with?”</p><p>Draco’s wand wavers. He wants to believe that Harry would help him, that their love would conquer all, even this task. </p><p>His task to kill Harry’s father, Albus Dumbledore. </p><p>Harry has never been close to Dumbledore, that much is apparent, but still. He’s already lost his biological parents, would he be so willing to lose another, even if their relationship is strained?</p><p>Somehow Draco doubts it. </p><p>“You need to leave, Harry.” The hand holding his wand trembles. He frantically tries to think of spells that would injure but not kill, praying he won’t have to use them. </p><p>Harry takes a step forward, his eyes a world of pain. “I can’t.”</p><p>“Please,” Draco warns. </p><p>“What did Voldemort—” but Harry doesn’t get to finish his question.</p><p>“<em> Stupify!” </em></p><p>Harry’s hand moves quickly and blocks the hex silently, his palm deflecting it to the side, where it crashes into a large heap of lost items haphazardly thrown together. Draco can barely believe it, and he stares at Harry, speechless. Harry smirks. </p><p>“You didn’t think Dumbledore was going to leave me so unprepared? No, I’m his greatest prize, his most valuable treasure. He made sure I knew how to protect myself before I even had a wand.”</p><p>Draco growls, then strikes again. <em> “Alarte Ascendare!” </em></p><p>Harry blocks it easily, brushing it away with the back of his hand like an annoying fly. “Come on, Draco, is that the best you’ve got?”</p><p>
  <em> “Confundo!” </em>
</p><p>He blocks it, smiling viciously, before running towards Draco.</p><p>
  <em> “Arresto Momentum!”  </em>
</p><p>Harry fails to block the hex this time, and his limbs slow down, each step a few seconds long. But it won’t last. </p><p><em> “Depulso!” </em>Draco shouts just as Harry breaks free of the spell, and he flies back, hitting the wall where the door used to be. He jumps back onto his feet easily, his eyes dark. He charges towards Draco again. </p><p>
  <em> “Incarcerous!” </em>
</p><p>Harry snarls, lashing the curse so that it splits and sends sliced up ropes flying behind him and scattering across the floor. He barely glances at them before lifting his hand as if to cast a wandless spell, though Draco can hardly dare to believe he has the power and control. </p><p>But he wouldn’t put anything past Harry at this point. </p><p><em> “Imperio,” </em>Draco whispers, his voice choking. Harry goes still, his eyes wide for a moment, filled with surprise, before relaxing into a slack expression. Draco wills Harry to move to the door, every second filling his lungs with pain like a thousand sharp needles. Harry takes a reluctant step backwards, then halts. A vein in Harry’s forehead pulses. Draco realizes with a sick feeling of horror that he’s fighting the curse. </p><p>He’s never heard of anyone who could fight the curse except for…</p><p>Except for Voldemort.</p><p>Draco drops his wand, and the spell ends, and Harry comes to life again, sprinting forward and kicking Draco’s wand away. They look at each other, Draco shaking all over, and Harry breathing hard. </p><p>“That was unnecessary,” Harry says mechanically. “I don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>“I know.” Draco feels the futility of it all, and wonders why he even bothered fighting to begin with. Perhaps to save what little pride he has left. But Harry always gets what he wants in the end. </p><p>“Please, tell me what he wants of you.”</p><p>Draco turns, eyes downcast. He walks towards a nearby pile of junk, covered in a thick layer of dust, and something large and looming covered in a dirty white sheet. He pulls the sheet off in one fluid motion, revealing the Vanishing Cabinet that he’s been working so tirelessly on for these past months. </p><p>“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Harry says quietly. He’s looking at the Cabinet with an unreadable expression. “I saw you looking at one in Borgin and Burkes before school.”</p><p>“Merlin, you <em> are </em>obsessed with me.”</p><p>Harry laughs, unexpectedly, and it eases the tension, and Draco smiles despite the heavy weight he feels crushing his chest. “What does it do?”</p><p>“It’s called a Vanishing Cabinet.” Draco runs a finger along the edge. “Hides things. People. It was used in the War a lot when someone needed to escape. This one connects to the one you saw in Borgin and Burkes. I’ve been fixing it.”</p><p>Harry glances sideways at Draco. “And what will you use it for?”</p><p>A heavy silence blankets the room, so that the only thing heard are the fluttering wings of Cornish pixies. Then Draco murmurs, “A way into the castle.”</p><p>“For Death Eaters.”</p><p>“Yes.” Draco’s voice is barely a whisper. He clears his throat. “I didn’t want to tell you because there wasn’t much you could help me with.”</p><p>“No,” Harry says flatly, “I suppose not.”</p><p>“How do I know you won’t tell Dumbledore about me?” Draco asks, and he tries to hide the shakiness in his voice. </p><p>Harry shrugs. “You won’t.” <em> You’ll just have to trust me </em>are the unspoken words, but they sound very loud to Draco, who bites his lip to stop from screaming out. </p><p>“Okay,” Draco says at last. He turns to Harry, and they take each other’s hand loosely, their fingers linked between them. </p><p>“I love you.” Harry lifts Draco’s hand and kisses the knuckles. His eyes are a flaming green, the pupils black as death. </p><p>“I love you too.” Despite it all, Draco's heart flutters inside his chest. </p><p>But Draco wonders if their love is really <em> real </em>if it only exists behind closed doors, in lost rooms tucked deep in an enchanted castle. When it comes down to it, and they face the world instead of each other, will Harry still take his hand? </p><p>Will Harry still love him when the whole world hates him?</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Slughorn bustles around the party goers, his nervous smile and laugh filtering between the crowds. Harry looks into his cup, the wine swirling dark and purple. Luna abandoned him to chat with Ginny, but he would rather be alone anyway. He really hates parties. </p><p>Hermione taps his arm anxiously, looking behind at a trailing, somewhat confused Cormac McLaggen. “God, he’s awful.”</p><p>“Could’ve told you that,” Harry mutters, earning a sharp elbow in his ribs. </p><p>“Help me,” Hermione squeals, before running off, leaving Harry with Cormac for what feels like the hundredth time, who shakes his head with a grin.</p><p>“She just keeps slipping away,” Cormac mutters.</p><p>Harry stays silent until Cormac struts away, still smiling that smile he probably thinks is charming but just looks sleazy to everyone else. Other students approach Harry, of course, mostly just to bask in the golden attention of his fame, some to ask if he’s single, a phenomenon that still manages to puzzle him. These people do not know him in the slightest, they do not have a clue about the darkness he lives with every day, the demons he battles each night, and yet they dare to ask him to lunch?</p><p>He thinks of Draco, the only person on earth to see every dark and blackened piece of his soul and take his hand and kiss it. To look in his eyes and brave the monster lurking within, the monster he feels slithering under his skin, rippling its shiny scales.</p><p>Of course, perhaps it’s easier to accept darkness in others when you have it in yourself. Is that why they gravitate so helplessly towards each other? Two twin flames burning brighter, dangerously brighter, together? He remembers looking at the Dark Mark, a black bruise against pale skin, and thinking that they were the same, that he had that Mark tattooed on his heart instead of his skin.</p><p>Draco isn’t here, but even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. They would act like they always used to, borderline hostility, obsession, and indifference, though now that border feels more like a delicate tightrope that is a pain to walk across. </p><p>Suddenly a crash resounds throughout the party, and Filch comes in carrying none other than Draco Malfoy by the collar of his cloak, who cuts his captor a filthy look that makes Harry almost laugh despite the worry blossoming his stomach. </p><p>They briefly lock eyes, before Draco’s gaze slides away easily. </p><p>Harry watches with a trained, casual eye as Snape offers the role of discipline, which Harry finds incredibly suspicious, and when they march swiftly out of the party and Slughorn attempts to restore the party atmosphere, Harry slips away quietly.</p><p>He hears Snape’s low, dramatic drawl resonate softly against the cold stone of the castle as Harry hurries after them down the hall. Abruptly, Snape slams Draco up against the wall, and Harry pauses, flattening himself behind a column, his heart pounding. He strains his ears. </p><p>“...to me….help you. I swore … your mother… protect you...the Unbreakable Vow, Draco—”</p><p>Draco’s voice breaks through, a low growl, “...to break it, then, because I don’t need your protection! It’s my job...I’ve got a plan... a bit longer…”</p><p>Snape replies with something too soft for Harry to hear, though he’s sure Draco won’t like whatever he says. </p><p>“...the glory...don’t you?”</p><p>“...acting like a child…” An insult Snape should take to his own heart, in Harry’s opinion. “...your <em> father </em>…Azkaban…”</p><p>Oh no. Harry knows before he hears it that Draco has stormed off, in the direction that Harry’s hiding. Snape stalks away in the opposite direction, and Harry takes advantage of this and grabs Draco by the shoulders when he passes his hiding spot, dragging them both into a nearby alcove. </p><p>“What? Stop!” Draco struggles at first until he realizes it’s Harry. “Oh. It’s you.”</p><p>Harry raises a brow. “That’s sweet, darling, how are you?”</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes, then looks at Harry shrewdly. “Were you eavesdropping?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Of course you were.” Draco sighs. “Snape is only trying to help but—”</p><p>“But you don’t need it?” Harry finishes for him, smirking. “Snape is a two-faced liar, trust me, I know, so he probably doesn’t want to help you anyway.”</p><p>“He does, I know. My mother trusts him, so he means well. But I can’t. I just...I just can’t.”</p><p>“If you let me…” Harry begins.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Harry.” Draco’s eyes plead with him, and Harry looks around, before slipping his arms around Draco’s waist. He kisses the crook of Draco’s neck, inhaling that familiar sharpness of cologne, a scent of wealth and dark money and bitter childhoods. “Harry,” Draco warns, for a completely different reason now. </p><p>“Draco,” Harry whispers against his skin.</p><p>“The party…”</p><p>“Shh.” He kisses Draco, pressing himself close against the heat of his body, that warmth like a memory, like a piece of the sun and everything good in his life, breathing right in his arms. </p><p>Voices echo down the hall, and Draco wrenches away, his eyes filled with tears. “I can’t,” he whispers, choked, before fleeing down the hall, away from the party and away from Harry, who clutches at his chest and wonders why love just feels like pain. </p><p>“Harry?” Luna asks, finding him a moment later in the alcove, leaning against his back and looking at the floor, troubled. “Why are you here all alone? The party is so sparkly right now.”</p><p>“Sparkly?” Harry sighs, then forces a smile. “Nevermind.”</p><p>“It’s funny,” Luna says lightly, “I swear I saw Malfoy there with you.”</p><p>Harry tries not to show the paralyzing fear he feels inside. “That is funny.” </p><p>Luna looks at him with a far too knowing look. “But you don’t laugh, do you?”</p><p>He shakes his head slowly, his head spinning as it always does when Luna’s words can mean one thing and another at the same time, and Luna’s gentle smile gives nothing away.</p><p>“No, I don’t laugh.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ginny glances worriedly at Harry standing along in the kitchen, leaning against the sink. This entire Christmas break he’s been suspiciously quiet and pensive, often sneaking away from Hermione and Ron to look into space, or to lay down and flip through his Map, though for the life of her Ginny doesn't know what he hopes to find there. </p><p>Her parents can’t tell a difference, though they are a little confused at how <em> close </em>Ginny and Harry always seemed to be, and now how they keep their distance even having technically made up. When his mind is far away, Ginny already has trouble reaching him. But now his heart has gone to a boy with a dark, twisted Fate and Ginny has no hopes of reaching Harry now. </p><p>But still, she tries anyway. </p><p>Ginny gets up off the couch, excusing herself from a silly conversation with Fred and George, who wiggle their eyebrows at her as she walks over to Harry. </p><p>“Hey,” she says, bumping into him. He looks up at her, surprised.</p><p>“Ginny.”</p><p>“Well, you know my name,” Ginny jokes. “Always a good start.”</p><p>Harry laughs halfheartedly. “I suppose I’m a bit of a bummer this holiday.”</p><p>“We can’t always be happy.” She pauses. “Dean and I are fighting.”</p><p>He frowns, and takes her hand affectionately, and it feels like a path diverging, one she’ll never take stretching one way, the other she’s destined to walk even if her heart wonders about the former. “You don’t love him.”</p><p>She smiles tightly. “No.” A sigh. “I tried. It just isn’t what I need.” A vision of blue eyes and long, blonde hair flows past before Harry squeezes her hand. <em> When you’re ready, I’ll be here. </em></p><p>“What do you need?”</p><p>“I need my best friend,” Ginny says softly, looking into Harry’s green eyes, bright and flickering despite the darkness. She reaches up and tussles his dark curls, then kisses his cheek. “You’re somewhere else, aren’t you?”</p><p>He glances at her distractedly, then looks out the window above the sink, into the dark of the night as if he can see something there that she can’t. Maybe he can. </p><p>“He’s out there. I can feel it. And he’s angry. I can feel it in my bones. Sometimes I swear...he’s inside me, like a snake, right under my skin, so close I can see the scales.”</p><p>Ginny shivers. “A war is coming. Everyone can feel that.”</p><p>Harry’s hand drops from Ginny’s. “Did you ever wonder how we never had to choose? I was always on the right side, the good side. Dumbledore’s side, whatever that means. And your parents already fought against Voldemort in the Great War. It was easy.”</p><p>“We all have a choice, Harry,” Ginny says slowly, sadly. She knows he’s thinking of someone else, someone who has to make that choice, the hardest choice, when both choices lead to heartbreak no matter which way you cut it.  </p><p>“Is it my choice if someone else makes it for me?” Harry asks. </p><p>“Is someone making the choice for you, or are you making the choice because of them?”</p><p>Harry doesn’t answer, because they both already know the answer. Ginny lets Harry rest his head against hers, and they stand like that in the kitchen for a long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. December 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny comes home early. </p><p>She doesn’t bother to tell anyone. In fact, she would prefer secrecy for the time being, though she might have to pay for it later. Luna waits at Mr.Lovegood's home, probably setting up Christmas decorations. </p><p>But Ginny has something to do first before she can join her. She takes a cab to the familiar apartment complex, not wishing to Apparate after such a long trip. </p><p>She doesn’t bother with ringing the doorbell. He won’t answer. Instead, she comes straight in without a key, the apartment recognizing her magic. The living room is empty and clean. No dirty dishes in the kitchen except a single glass. She thinks for a moment she catches a glimmer of a Concealment charm, but the thought that Harry would be hiding something in his kitchen just sounds too ridiculous for her to investigate. </p><p>And if she’s learned anything, when it comes to Harry, it’s best not to investigate too much if you won’t like what you find.</p><p>“Harry?” she calls out. No answer. She climbs the stairs next, trying his bedroom first. The room is dark as death, and she can just make out a curled up figure beneath the blankets. She sits down gently on the edge of the bed. “Harry,” she says, full of pity. </p><p>“Leave me be, Hermione,” Harry croaks, muffled under the blankets.</p><p>“It’s not Hermione.”</p><p>His head pokes out, then sees it’s Ginny, and sits up fully. He’s shirtless, his hair crumpled and unwashed, with a few days stubble on his chin. “Ginny?”</p><p>“You look dreadful,” she says.</p><p>“You came back early.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Why?” Harry asks suspiciously. </p><p>Ginny sighs. “You know why.”</p><p>“Hermione and Ron told you, then.” He sounds bitter.</p><p>“They’re worried sick,” Ginny says, trying to bite back her anger. “And you know, I would be too—more than I am, at least—if I didn’t know what was going on.”</p><p>Harry goes very still. “What do you mean?”</p><p>She stays silent, but she had already resolved to reveal that she knew infinitely more about his situation than he had always thought. </p><p>“Ginny? What do you mean?” His eyes are steady, but his mouth is tense, and Ginny realizes he’s terrified. </p><p>“I know, Harry,” Ginny says, finally. “Since Sixth Year, I knew about Draco.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”</p><p>“No.” Harry’s shaking his head. </p><p>“Yes, Harry, I’m sorry, but I know and I couldn’t tell you.”</p><p>“No, Ginny,” he says forcefully. “You don’t know. You may think you know, but you really don’t know.”</p><p>“Harry,” she says sadly. “I know you loved each other. And maybe there’s more to it—”</p><p>“Loved?” Harry asks incredulously. He laughs derisively. “He was my whole world. I am <em> nothing, </em>Ginny, nothing, without him. I would rather be dead than be without him, and I’m not just saying that because I am heartbroken or because I want you to feel bad for me. No, it’s something that I know and have known for a long time now and tried to ignore it but I can’t anymore. So no, you really don’t understand.”</p><p>“I’m going to marry Luna Lovegood,” Ginny says abruptly. He goes quiet, his face startled. “We decided on the trip. I’m telling you this because you deserve to know. You’re my best friend, and I want you to share in my happiness, because I am really fucking happy. And I also could not live without her. I love her more than anything in this world. I would <em> kill </em>to keep her by my side. So I understand you more than you know.”</p><p>“Ginny—”</p><p>“But,” Ginny continues, “I’m also telling you this because I can’t save you this time Harry. I have Luna, and Luna has me, and sometimes, Harry, you have to save yourself. I love you, Harry, but it’s time you learn to love yourself.”</p><p>Harry stares at the bed sheets for a long time, before he speaks quietly. “Draco wanted me to tell everyone. To love him and to not be ashamed of loving him. He doesn’t understand. How could I ever be ashamed of loving him? I could never—you must understand—he is—I can’t—”</p><p>“You’re ashamed of yourself,” Ginny says. He nods, his eyes glistening in his eyes. “It’s not about Draco, is it? Maybe once it was, but now...I think you need to forgive yourself.”</p><p>Harry shakes his head vigorously, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t, Ginny, I can’t.”</p><p>“You have to forgive yourself and you have to forgive Dumbledore and everyone else who fought and died in the war, a war that you still blame yourself for.”</p><p>He hunches over, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes, barely containing his sobs. Ginny wants to comfort him, but she knows with her unswerving certitude that this is something Harry must do on his own. </p><p>“You have some unresolved demons,” Ginny says, standing up, “that are getting in the way of you and the love of your life. You know what I would do in your place? If my love with Luna was at stake? I wouldn’t stop a second until all of those demons were dead.”</p><p>She walks towards the door, her eyes stinging. But she will not cry. Her days of shedding tears over him are long gone. </p><p>“You’re leaving?” Harry asks, his voice small like a child’s. She pauses at the door.</p><p>“See you at the Christmas Party, Harry,” she says quietly, before leaving him behind.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Hermione is surprised to see Harry arrive at Molly and Arthur’s Christmas Party, albeit an hour late. He looks just about as awful as she expected, dark circles under his eyes, barely brushed curls, frumpy Christmas sweater from five years back. She wonders anxiously how he will react with Draco also being invited to the party, arm in arm with Pansy Parkinson. </p><p>But she needn't have worried, at least about him. Harry skillfully ignores Draco—<em> as if he’s done this before, </em> Hermione thinks to herself—and makes a dutiful round of greeting to everyone absolutely necessary before escaping to the kitchen where Ron prepares the dinner with his mother.</p><p>Draco, on the other hand, bites his lip frequently while casting glances to the kitchen, only stopping when Pansy pinches his arm. He looks generally put out, and when Hermione wanders over to the pair of them, she notices that Pansy stands ramrod straight, anxiously trying to keep Draco engaged. But it’s no use; he can barely string a coherent sentence without losing his train of thought when someone enters or leaves the kitchen, which renders him essentially unable to carry a conversation. </p><p>Then Ginny arrives, hand in hand with Luna, matching silver rings on their hands. Molly and Arthur are delightfully shocked and the news brings an added merriment to the festivities. Hermione walks over to them to offer her congratulations. </p><p>She hugs Ginny, then Luna. They both look beautiful, long flowing hair, a glowing to the skin from being in hotter places during England’s muggy winter. </p><p>“This is certainly a surprise,” Hermione says, grinning. They take a moment to examine the rings. Hermione is shown the engagement bands up close, and sees the inscription <em> suspicere stellas </em>. </p><p>Look up at the stars. </p><p>“It was somewhat spontaneous,” Ginny explains, blushing. </p><p>“Really?” Luna wonders. “It always felt inevitable.” </p><p>Hermione leaves them be to bask in the attention of a new engagement. She remembers how it felt, and looks toward the kitchen, where she glimpses Ron bent over the oven, his cheeks flushed, and she cannot escape a smile.</p><p>Soon the dinner and probable awkwardness can't be avoided, and everyone sits down on the magically extended dining table. Harry sits between Ginny and Hermione, with Luna beside the former and Ron beside the latter. Molly and Arthur take the head and tail of the table, with the rest of the Weasleys and other guests scattered throughout with their partners and plus ones. </p><p>Suddenly an insistent clinking noise echoes and quiets the dinner guests, and Hermione realizes with a belated horror that Harry has stood up, his glass in one hand, a dessert spoon in the other. He looks serious, and his eyes roam swiftly around the room to avoid eye contact.</p><p>“I’d like to make a toast,” Harry begins, his voice soft. He clears his throat. “It’s been about ten years since the Second War started. I think about it a lot, we all do, around holidays, those we’ve lost, and it feels as if it were just yesterday when our whole world fell apart.”</p><p>He pauses, and Hermione sees Molly with tears down her face, and Ginny discreetly wiping at her cheeks. Everyone has their eyes on Harry, even Draco. </p><p>“The night I died, I saw a place, perhaps all in my head though no less real for it, a place all white and pure, where you can choose to go on, or stay. I chose to stay, but I did glimpse the beyond before I left, and I saw them all. My parents, Fred, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and so many more, they were all together, all smiling, all happy. I took comfort knowing somewhere, in an other world, our fallen family and friends are happy and in peace. I hope it gives you comfort today, too, and every year hence, as we never truly forget, and never truly heal without them.”</p><p>A heavy hush had fallen among them, and it felt almost magical, as if Harry’s words had settled a mist around them and the ghosts of people they will always remember had laid a hand on their shoulders, a blessing from an angel.</p><p>Harry raises his glass high, and he looks straight at Draco, longingly.</p><p>“To other worlds.”</p><p><em> To other worlds. </em>Hermione shivers as the words are echoed like a dark and dangerous enchantment. And for a moment, she understands everything perfectly.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Ron rocks Rose to sleep, her face puckered with exhaustion, and her little mouth opening wide in an adorable yawn. Hermione walks in, hands in the pockets of her sweatpants which they both immediately changed into after coming back from the party. </p><p>“I figured it out.” She sighs. “All these years. It’s so clear now, I can’t believe I missed it.”</p><p>“Harry’s secret lover?”</p><p>“I suppose that’s the only thing to call it.”</p><p>Ron shakes his head in disbelief. “So it was Draco.”</p><p>Hermione looks at him questioningly. “How did you know?”</p><p>“I’m smarter than you think.” Hermione begins to protest, but Ron smiles. “They also aren’t as subtle as they would like to believe. Honestly, Draco was staring at him the entire night. And Harry’s toast? The way he looked at him?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m surprised nobody else caught on.”</p><p>“Still,” Ron says so earnestly that even Hermione raises a brow, to which he blushes, though continuing anyway. “Still, we don’t know why they ended things in Sixth Year, and how Ginny was involved. And now, do you think they reignited their flame, so to speak?”</p><p>Hermione nods, pensive. “Yes, I’m almost positive. And something must’ve happened recently. Again. It’s hard to tell, though. They are both very reserved.”</p><p>“Leave it up to Harry to have a second chance and still fuck things up,” Ron mutters. </p><p>“Oh, and you’re so much better, eh?”</p><p>Ron holds up Rose gently. “I gotcha in the end, didn’t I?”</p><p>Hermione smiles, her eyes yielding to love, as she watches them together. “Yes, yes you did.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. January 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ron scratches at his sweater, the large letter R a bright red against the woven green. He loves his mother dearly, but her knitting could be more...comfortable.</p><p>He glances at Hermione, who is curled up in an armchair with a book, as per usual. They haven’t been talking much since he started dating Lavender. But since Christmas Break, a sort of truce has sprung between them. Harry spreads himself out on the carpeted floor before the roaring fire, eyes closed, his Potion’s textbook resting on his stomach, underneath his hand. </p><p>“Is that a romance novel?” Ron asks, peeking at the cover of Hermione's book. </p><p>Hermione glances up, surprised. “Yes.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you reading anything like that.”</p><p>She frowns. “Why do you say that?”</p><p>Ron blushes. “I just never fancied you as that type of girl, I suppose.”</p><p>This time Hermione sits up, narrowing her eyes. Ron’s heart beats fast. “And what type of girl is that?”</p><p>“Well, you know, I…”</p><p>“He means,” Harry interrupts sleepily, eyes still closed, “a romantic.”</p><p>They fall silent, and Ron and Hermione share a look that has nothing to do with what type of girl Hermione might be. Just this morning a rumor that Ginny and Dean broke up started circulating around, and still, it seems, Harry has not heard it.</p><p>“Harry…” Hermione begins hesitantly.</p><p>“Mmh?”</p><p>“Ginny and Dean broke up.”</p><p>Harry doesn’t reply. He sits up, though, and crosses his arms over his knees, hugging them to his chest. Ron can’t tell if he cares or not.</p><p>“We just thought,” Ron mentions awkwardly, “that maybe you didn’t know.”</p><p>“I heard,” is all he says.</p><p>Hermione sighs. “Have you talked with her yet?”</p><p>“For what?” he asks. </p><p>“Oh I don’t know, to ask her how she’s doing with something as emotionally draining as a break up,” Hermione replies tersely.</p><p>“She’s doing fine,” Harry mutters, looking into the fire crossly.</p><p>Hermione stands up, her cheeks red and pointing an accusatory finger at Harry, who looks at her with a new alertness. Even Ron sits up a little straighter. “You don’t know that! Okay, she might not be heartbroken, but she could still be conflicted about the situation especially with all the rumors, guilty for breaking it off with someone who was clearly into her, even more guilty if she doesn’t feel heartbroken, and overall exhausted from the entire ordeal on top of studies and Quidditch, but you could give a damn, and you know what? It doesn’t make you cool or above it all or excuse you from caring. It just makes you pathetic and most of all, a bad friend.”</p><p>With that, Hermione storms off, slamming the door to the girl’s dormitory behind her. Harry looks at Ron, stunned. </p><p>“She’s mental,” Harry says.</p><p>“She has a point,” Ron mutters, blushing when Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, Harry, you’ve been pretty out of it lately. Ginny needs a friend, and you two were always close. I’m sure you’re going through a lot, what with Dumbledore and the memories, and I don’t want to take that away from you mate, but sometimes all you really have are the friends you make. It’d be a shame to lose them.”</p><p>Harry glances away, biting his bottom lip. </p><p>“We’re not angry with you,” Ron adds gently. “It’s just, sometimes, you come off a bit insensitive. You’re hard to read, and right now, it looks like you could care less how Ginny’s feeling. And as her brother, I can’t let that slide. You guys don’t need to be what you were, but the least you could do is check in with her.”</p><p>Finally Harry nods. “Sometimes I forget.” He smiles ruefully, and it’s the first smile Ron has seen on him in what feels like months. “Sometimes I forget that I have friends.”</p><p>“Well, that’s why you have friends to remind you,” Ron jokes.</p><p>Harry laughs softly, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ask for better.” He looks at Ron seriously. “Thank you. I don’t say it enough.”</p><p>“You don’t have to.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Draco, Draco, Draco… </em>
</p><p>Harry can’t get him out his mind, the name circling in his mind like a dizzying merry-go-round. He hasn’t seen him since they’ve got back from Christmas Break, and Harry thinks he might just go insane. </p><p>Their last encounter makes his stomach turn. Overhearing Snape offer Draco help, Draco refusing and running off, barely able to even kiss him without holding back tears. A one-sided duel in the Room of Requirement didn’t help. </p><p>It felt like they were falling apart. </p><p>“Harry,” Hermione whispers urgently. She has stopped eating, and jerks her head in the direction of the Dining Hall doors. “Harry, look.”</p><p>He looks, and his heart stops. It’s Katie Bell, fully recovered. Harry can’t help himself. He looks across the Hall at the Slytherin table, making eye contact with Draco, who is deathly pale. Harry scrambles out of his seat and approaches Katie, who smiles warmly when she sees him. </p><p>“Katie,” he says, the name barely escaping his lips. </p><p>“I don’t know who did it,” Katie says before he can ask. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You didn’t see any...anything? Before you got cursed?” Harry asks anxiously, though he barely hears her answer, because out of the corner of his eye he sees Draco getting up and escaping from the Hall. </p><p>“No, I really didn’t,” Katie says sadly.</p><p>Harry feels relief first. No one saw them. But then an almost paralyzing anxiety spears through his stomach, and he mutters a quick excuse and races after Draco, hoping he can still catch up to him. </p><p>He sees him turning the corner up ahead, and Harry all but sprints after him. Draco turns his head, sees Harry, and scowls, increasing his pace before slipping into a boy’s bathroom. Harry holds back right at the entrance, remembering the last time he followed Draco into a bathroom. </p><p>Time slows down, each second like a frame in a stop motion film, that peculiar effect when the universe wishes to tell you something, to warn you, that much hangs in the balance in this moment, that one wrong move will send the scales tipping.</p><p>Harry hears crying, and his decision is made. </p><p>He storms into the bathroom, stopping short when he sees Draco hunched over the sink, one hand clutching his collar, a boy desperately crying for help, trapped in a role he no longer wants to play. </p><p>“Draco,” he says, so softly he doesn’t think the other boy hears it, but suddenly Draco whips around. “Draco, please.”</p><p>“Stay out of it,” Draco snarls. “I have told you too much already.”</p><p>“But clearly not everything,” Harry counters coldly. “What do you and your little Death Eater friends plan to do once inside the castle? I’m not stupid. I know they don’t plan to have a slumber party in the Dungeons.”</p><p>“You never mentioned this before,” Draco says. “In the Room. Why?”</p><p>Harry grimaces. “Call it naive but I wanted to be ignorant for just a little longer. I thought…”</p><p>“You thought if you didn’t ask it wasn’t going to happen?”</p><p>“But we can’t ignore it anymore,” Harry says harshly. Then with more urgency, “War is coming, Draco, I can feel it. I can feel him waiting for it. I know you can feel it too. Seeing Katie Bell...it brought me back to reality. We can’t live in our fantasy anymore. At some point we will have to pick a side. Both of us.”</p><p>Draco stares at him with a wild look in his eyes that Harry can only call despair. “I can’t.”</p><p>“Draco,” Harry says desperately, moving forward with arms stretched out, supplicating, but Draco scrambles away. “Draco, please, you have to choose. It’s him or me. It’s that simple.”</p><p>He looks at Harry sadly. “Nothing is ever that simple.”</p><p>“Draco,” Harry warns, but it’s no use, he can see the walls rising like a fortress in Draco’s shoulders, sees him pull himself up in defense. “I could help you.”</p><p>“My task is to kill Dumbledore,” Draco says flatly, and even though Harry knew it was coming, had known in the darkest part of himself for a while now, it still hits him like a punch to the gut, almost hard enough for him to keel over. “Now, are you going to stop me? Or help me?”</p><p>Harry cannot look away from Draco’s storming grey gaze. </p><p>“It’s your choice,” Draco says quietly. </p><p>Why does he feel angry? Harry turns around, breathing hard, trying to calm down the rage bubbling in his chest, the build up to an explosion. This is not a choice. He should not have to choose between the two people he loves most in this world. </p><p>Draco must choose, not Harry. </p><p>“I don’t understand,” Harry says, his mind spinning, his hands clenched in fists. “You want me to choose whether I lose my father, or I lose you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Draco says, his voice breaking. </p><p>“No,” Harry says. “You have to choose between what is right and what is wrong. I am already on the right side. It’s your choice, not mine.”</p><p>“My choice?” Draco echoes in disbelief. His lips quiver in anger and his hands tremble at his sides. “Well, if it’s <em> my choice </em>then I choose my family. I choose my family every fucking time.” </p><p>The words hit Harry and he nearly collapses. Every moment he’s ever thought that perhaps if they just loved each other enough, that this torrential force of nature that has ripped everything he’s known for certain to shreds, that this heart wrenching pain could conquer anything—it all pierces through whatever strength is holding him together, and a deep shame flames his cheeks. </p><p>A red taint blinds his vision like a shower of blood, and he realizes distantly, as if his mind has floated above his body, that his hand is gripping his wand. </p><p>The spell cracks like electricity in the air without Harry saying a word, and really he never thought of a spell, and it flies like a lightning bolt across the bathroom, hitting a nearby sink and exploding, causing water to gush out of a broken pipe onto the floor. </p><p>Draco stares at him in shock. “What did you just do?”</p><p>Harry rolls his neck, the joints popping. Power rolls down his back like a snake rippling tall, ready to strike. “Tell me,” he says in a low voice, so broken and deep it doesn’t sound like his, “that you will not kill him. Promise me that you will find another way.”</p><p>“It doesn’t work like that,” Draco says, and he has his wand out protectively, feet set in a dueling stance. “Put down your wand, Harry.”</p><p>“Why should I?” Harry asks harshly, raising his wand. “You’re my enemy now, aren’t you? If I know the danger you threaten my family with, I should do anything to prevent it.”</p><p>“Well, then, so will I,” Draco says, his voice shaking. Then suddenly he shouts, “<em> Stupify!” </em></p><p>Harry blocks the spell and prepares to strike back, but Draco has lunged behind the bathroom stalls, and flings another hex his way that slams him off his feet. </p><p><em> “Reducto!” </em>The spell hits the stalls and shatters the first one, but Draco has slid away. </p><p>
  <em> “Levi corpus!” </em>
</p><p>Harry twists out of the way, and the spell skitters like a monstrous spider across the floor, ripping apart the tile. He counters with a Bat Bogey Hex, which Draco dodges.</p><p>The curses fly back and forth, and the bathroom rapidly tears to pieces under the brunt force of malice. Harry’s hands shake with how much rage trembles in his breast, but his mind hones in steady on the harsh breath of someone else.</p><p>His enemy. </p><p>He doesn’t think at all. A hex slices across his cheek but the sting fades as the incantation rises to the tip of his tongue. <em> Sectum sempre.  </em></p><p>Draco falls.</p><p>Red. Red fading into water.  </p><p>Harry falls beside him, numb. So this is what it feels like when the world ends….</p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Ginny shoves her gear into the locker room, wiping an annoying strand of hair that sticks to her forehead. As always, Quidditch remains a sacred escape from the drama in her life. Frustrations melt away in the wind, all her cares whipping behind her as she plummets through the air. </p><p>A clamor from the door to the lockers makes her look up sharply, and suddenly Harry stumbles towards her, blood on his hands, a sharp bleeding gash across his cheek, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. </p><p>“How did you—what—Harry,” Ginny stutters, right before Harry collapses into her arms, and it takes all her strength to keep them both standing. “Harry, you’re scaring me.”</p><p>“I need you,” Harry says, choked, “It happened. It’s all ended. The world is ending. I need you. I promised. I need you now. Help me. I need you. I need you…”</p><p>
  <em> I need you I need you I need you… </em>
</p><p>Ginny understands, then, what has happened and her stomach drops with a sickening swiftness. Harry’s chest heaves with dry sobs and together they slowly sink down to the floor, arms around each other, blood and tears smearing across skin. </p><p>She kisses his hair, matted with blood and debris. “Harry, love, you need to go to Madame Pomfrey.”</p><p>He groans. “I can’t.” His voice is muffled against her shoulder. </p><p>“I’m not going to ask what happened,” Ginny says. “I just want to know what you need from me right now.”</p><p>Harry takes in a shaky breath, pulling back. His eyes are rimmed red, and he looks so beautiful and so broken Ginny’s heart pangs. </p><p>“I need something to hold on to,” Harry says, finally. His mouth is grim. “I just need us together, until I can—until—”</p><p>“Okay.” Ginny holds Harry’s face between the palms of her hands, not wanting him to say another word. “Okay.”</p><p>“I—I can’t—he’s—I—” his eyes dart around and she shushes him gently, a finger on his lips, brushing softly. </p><p>“It’s okay, it will all be okay,” she whispers, willing him to keep it together.</p><p>“Ginny,” he says brokenly, and he leans in, needing, falling apart, the shards of a love story that was never meant to last.</p><p>His hands find her waist like a plea for help and she kisses him—a savior. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. January 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco never associated shame with heartbreak until he left Harry alone in that apartment for the last time and resolved to move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t regret it, falling deeper and harder in love. Back in school, sure, they loved each other, they needed each other...but this time it was different. They didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>each other anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They chose each other. And that meant everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here he is, curled up on the couch, Pansy on the other end worrying herself, his feet on her lap. He hasn’t cried yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy sneaks glances at him, probably waiting for him to break down. But he won’t this time around. He can live without Harry. He knows that well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s just it, though. He can live without him, and yet, he still went back, still took the risk, still hoped beyond hope. And the shame of that hope curdles in his stomach as the days drag on without him. How stupid could he be? How pathetic? How lonely? How truly insecure?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is ashamed of himself for choosing someone who could not even choose him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay to cry,” Pansy says quietly. She looks into the fireplace, as if revisiting a memory long settled into the haze of the past. “It’s okay to be heartbroken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If anything I’m angry,” Draco says, his voice flat, and the words ring true as he says them, though they had never crossed his mind before. “Angry that I thought this time around would be different. Angry that my life always gives me hopes just to crush them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy looks at him sadly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t he?” Draco asks bitterly. “He’s the Savior, the Chosen One. I’m the Death Eater everyone wishes had been sent to Azkaban with the rest of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just victimizing yourself now.” Pansy sighs. “Life doesn’t owe you any favors, Draco. You take what you can get, how you can get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” Draco says not without sarcasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something, if I recall correctly, you used to be,” Pansy counters, leveling him with a dangerously raised brow. Draco rolls his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! You looked the Dark Lord in the eyes, Draco, let alone the fact that you lived with him for an entire summer. Very few can claim the same and live to tell it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not something I wish to tell people,” Draco mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But maybe you should!” Pansy sits forward, eyes gleaming, scheming. “People respect you, even if they fear you or hate you, because of who you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Death Eater?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Pansy says, irritated. “Because you are Draco Malfoy, and that means something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stares at her, and can’t thing of a word to say. Then the doorbell rings, and Pansy looks at the front door, then sharply at Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you invite someone over?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gets up, moving his feet from her lap not so gently. Draco doesn’t bother. Surely it’s a Muggle that’s wandered up the wrong floor, or else a teenage wizard set on pranking former followers of the Dark Lord. Either way, it concerns him not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens, and he hears a familiar voice. He sits up, listening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to see how he’s doing…” It takes a second for Draco to realize it’s Hermione, that bold gentleness bellied by a fierce kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s heartbroken...well, yes...you see?” Pansy replies, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper that he can’t quite catch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I….come in...please.” Hermione sounds desperate, but from what Draco can see from his place on the couch, Pansy holds the door firmly halfway closed, with herself blocking the entry. He feels a rush of relief that his best friend knows that despite his lack of tears, he could absolutely not handle a visitor. Especially Hermione Granger.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only a true Slytherin can comfort another Slytherin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Draco thinks wryly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>which only proves that Harry should have been Sorted in a very different House. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...can’t….sorry…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione replies with something he can’t make out, but Pansy tenses just slightly, before relaxing. She’s nodding, and holding out her hand, as if to comfort Hermione. How odd the world has become in such a short time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...knew it...if this happened…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“....we can only wait...called...maybe…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they exchange quick goodbyes, and the door closes. Pansy turns, and sighs long and hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She knows.” Pansy shrugs, as if to say there was nothing to do now. “She figured it out, like I said she would. I assume the Weasley knows as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron,” Draco says quietly. “His name is Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy stares at him, then nods slowly. “Right. Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did she say about Harry?” Draco asks, his voice tightening automatically. When Pansy doesn’t answer, he adds, “It’s okay. I just want to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She says he’s a mess. Won’t get out of bed. Depressed. She’s worried that…” Pansy hesitates, her hands squeezed together in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worried that what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy shakes her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Pansy crosses her arms. “She’s worried that he might...hurt himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco nods, his mind briefly remembering the unfinished Sad Nightingale in his kitchen, feeling relieved that at least one option was unavailable. “I guessed that much. His speech at Christmas was…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...meant for you?” Pansy finishes. “Probably gave you two away if anyone cared to watch closely enough. Both of you, staring at each other like star-crossed lovers. The nerve that boy has, honestly, Draco, if I could get my hands on him he’d wish he finished himself off before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pansy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry. This is about you and your broken heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about Harry. It’s always been about Harry,” Draco says seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy smiles sadly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It will always be him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And the most shameful thing of all is that those words will always be true.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione opens the bedroom door an inch, looking inside the darkness and trying to make out a sleeping Harry on the bed. Ron nudges her side, and she opens it all the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry?” Hermione asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry groans in response, and it sounds a lot like </span>
  <em>
    <span>go away</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, mate,” Ron says awkwardly. “We just want to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need help,” Harry mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron looks at Hermione and shrugs. She makes a face to stay quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry, we need to talk to you,” she says firmly, not bothering to sound caring as she has in the past. “It’s important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry rolls over, squinting at them before fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand. When he has them on, his face is guarded with suspicion. “Is it the Ministry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hermione says curtly. “It’s about Draco Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron raises an eyebrow at her, but she ignores him. Harry doesn’t listen to flattery and charm; he automatically weeds out those attempts of conversation, used to a life of fame and superficial adoration. No, this time Hermione has decided to get straight to the point, and will waste no time trying to cater to Harry’s feelings when he never appreciates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stays silent for a long time, looking back and forth between Hermione and Ron, his shoulders tense. “So you know.” It’s not a question; he can see it on their faces. “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guessed as much a month ago,” Hermione says. “I knew without a doubt at the Christmas party. Ron figured it out then on his own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was pretty obvious to anyone who knows you two well,” Ron explains, scratching at the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we still have a lot of questions,” Hermione says quickly, not wanting to get off track. Harry raises a brow at her. “I remembered you told me that you were in love with someone during Sixth Year, but you dated Ginny by the end of the year, and I forgot all about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We realized it was Draco,” Ron interjects, “but it was hard to imagine at first. I always thought you two hated each other. I mean, you were constantly trying to rat him out, so it made no sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks down at his hands in his lap and says quietly, “It was never hate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminds Hermione of her conversation with Pansy, that memory so vibrant it quickly faded away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t we all hate in our own way?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"And Ginny...?" Hermione begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head. "It's complicated. We...could never get married. Ginny needed someone steadier, calmer, less dark and heavy. She was there for me when I needed her most, and then after the war, we tried to make it work. But people change, she as much as I." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny's words from the memory echo in Hermione's mind. <em>Harry</em></span>
  <em>
    <span> put his faith and love in someone who broke it. He will forever blame himself for it. He will forever yearn for some other world where that never happened. And I will forever be the healer of a heartbreak that will never go away. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It all makes such terrible sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you had a secret affair with Draco,” Hermione continues, pushing her thoughts aside reluctantly, “but never told us, for whatever reason. I suppose you had a reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shrugs, and his face looks empty and cold. “We thought it would’ve been safer, with the task Voldemort gave him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Ron says slowly, “you knew about the task to kill Dumbledore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly.” Harry sighs, scratching at his chin. “I kept trying to figure it out. He never wanted to tell me, which I didn't understand until later. But one day I caught him going into the Room of Requirement. He showed me the Vanishing Cabinet and told me he was trying to fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To let the Death Eaters into the castle,” Hermione finishes sadly, remembering the terror of that night, the Dark Mark flashing green against the stormy grey sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says flatly. “I knew about it. I knew but I couldn’t tell anyone because it meant Draco would get in trouble. I protected him. Though, he didn’t tell me he was going to kill Dumbledore at first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At first?” Ron echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nods, a stiff jerk of the head. “I think I knew. I think I knew from the moment I saw the Vanishing Cabinet. But I didn’t want to believe it, that he could do something like that. He told me the day I used the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sectum sempra </span>
  </em>
  <span>on him. In the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Hermione asks, struggling to comprehend. "Why would you use that horrid spell on him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, Hermione? Because the bloke told Harry he was planning to kill his dad, that’s why,” Ron says, but Hermione just elbows him sharply, and looks at Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I felt betrayed,” Harry says, and his voice has a fresh honesty like it’s the first time he’s confessing these feelings to anyone. “I trusted him. I chose him. But when it came down to me or him, he chose himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He chose his family, Harry,” Hermione says, and she feels so sad that Harry could get things so wrong. “You both had an impossible choice to make, which really means you had no choice at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both had a choice,” Harry says darkly. “And we both chose the wrong ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t try to change your mind,” Hermione says, “but it’s clear that both of you want to be together again, to try and heal from the past. So what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s voice is hollow. “We can’t be together. I thought...but I always knew, deep down, that it couldn’t last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t you be together?” Ron asks, confused. “The war is over. Everybody loves you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because no one knows me,” Harry interrupts angrily. “They think they love me but they don’t know the evil in me. The horrible things I have done. They just see a Savior, when I died to find a better world. I didn’t want to save them, just myself. I’m selfish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you come back, then?” Hermione asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Harry says quietly. “I had a choice, but it didn’t really feel like one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of Draco?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of Draco,” Harry repeats reluctantly, his head hung as if in shame. “I’m a horrible person.” It takes a few moments for Hermione to realize the slight shaking of his shoulders is because he’s trying to hold back sobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter why you came back, Harry,” Ron says firmly, and Hermione loves him more for it. “It just matters that you did. You chose to come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do not judge your choices,” Hermione says, and Harry looks up, his eyes red and glossy. “There’s no such thing as good people and bad people. There are the choices you make and the people you love. And we will always love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hates me,” Harry says, his voice choked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s just sad. You left him with an impossible choice, Harry, to choose someone who kept him a secret, or to choose a life without the person he loves most in the world.” Hermione sighs, taking Ron’s hand in hers. He squeezes it comfortingly. “You know, the world wants to heal more than it wants to hate. If you give people the chance to love you for who you are, they will take it, I promise you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I can,” Harry whispers, so softly she can barely hear. “I just don’t know if I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the dead of night, Harry wakes up. He mostly sleeps during the day, as if his body physically cannot stand the light, preferring the cover of darkness instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets up and goes downstairs, his head heavy from crying. Grabbing a cigarette from the kitchen table, he goes out onto his balcony, a small rectangular space a few stories off the ground, facing the alley behind his apartment complex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a wave of his hand, he lights the end of the cigarette. A trick Albus—his father—taught him years and years ago, so it feels like another lifetime altogether. His father…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recalls, unwillingly, the night on the Astronomy Tower, frozen under the Cloak, unable to do anything, unable to look away, forced to watch Draco, sweet, witty, loving Draco, point a wand at his father. And then Snape killed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock was subdued by the shame, a dark black shame that coated his skin like oil he couldn’t wash off no matter how hard he scrubbed. Harry knew he could never look at Draco the same. He represents every awful choice he’s ever made, the deadliest of sins he can never ask forgiveness for, because the person he would ask for forgiveness from is dead and buried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Draco came back into his life, a willing miracle that lasted as brief as it did ten years before. A scar on his heart that never truly heals because he keeps ripping it back open again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers what Hermione said earlier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There are the choices you make and the people you love. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But the only choice he’s ever made was to love Draco, and it burned all he loved to the ground. Why should he trust himself to make that choice again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Draco should move on, live without him, find someone else to love who will choose him without shame, that soul-eating darkness which never truly goes away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry puts out the cigarette and walks back inside the kitchen. He opens the cabinet above the sink, removing the strong glamour he had placed on it long ago, and grabbing a small vial of The Sad Nightingale he has had since the war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at the liquid, a silvery blue color reminiscent of a thread of memory, then he goes back up to his room. After carefully setting the vial down on his nightstand, he goes to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he dreams a very familiar dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stands on top of the Astronomy Tower, looking out at the lush green valley he grew up flying over, the sparkling lake, the stars and the moon smiling down at him. Draco’s constellation winking on the horizon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks towards the edge, looking down at the black abyss, knowing always a second too late that he’s falling, falling backwards like his father, Albus Dumbledore, the person he looked up to and the person he loved and the person he resented, all at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He falls off the edge like he always does but then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice calls his name and a hand grabs his arm. Harry bolts upright in a cold sweat, and he realizes what he has to do. He gets up with shaky hands and starts packing immediately, blindly shoving clothes in a duffel bag. At the last moment before leaving his room, he snatches the vial off his nightstand and slips it into the pocket of his cloak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he leaves for the last time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. January 1996</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cold wind cools his cheeks and tousles his hair. Draco wraps his cloak tighter around his chest, January quickly dragging in winter’s deepest chills. The sharp, ice cold air still manages to seep through his clothes, and his chest aches.</p><p>Madame Pomfrey said the scars will be there forever. She could try to remove them...but Draco refused. He didn’t want them to just disappear, for the only mark Harry visibly left on him to fade away so easily. Besides, they weren’t large, gnarly gashes across his chest and stomach. Just faint silvery lines, so faint on his pale skin you had to squint to see them.</p><p>Draco doesn’t care about scars anymore. He pulls up the sleeve on his arm, looking at his Dark Mark. How could he care about anything when <em> this </em>branded him for life? And what a life it was!</p><p>Sometimes he wonders why he shouldn’t just jump, right now, off the edge of the Astronomy Tower, and end it all. He could. Draco takes a step closer to the edge, looks down the sheer drop to a grassy clearing below. The fall would surely kill him. It would kill anyone. </p><p>He takes another step closer, the top of his boot going past the edge of the floor. He leans over, just a little bit more.</p><p>Really, what’s stopping him? If he doesn’t kill Dumbledore, his family dies. If he kills Dumbledore, he loses Harry. In fact, he’s already lost Harry. Every choice he makes only leads to heartbreak, to pain and loss, one way or another. </p><p>But if he ends it now—</p><p>“Draco,” a voice calls out behind him. </p><p>He swivels around. It’s Pansy, his best friend, black lipstick stark against her pale face, the same color as her short black hair, the edges devastatingly sharp. She has a dark green scarf around her neck, and an inky black cloak bellowing around her, flowing just below the ankles of her boots. </p><p>She looks like a saving grace, if grace were dark and sinful, and Draco feels relieved to see her. </p><p>“Draco, step away from the edge,” she says, her voice shaking. He breaks a little inside. </p><p>“Pansy, I can’t—”</p><p>“This is not the only way,” Pansy pleads. “Just come here.”</p><p>Draco shakes his head, looking over the edge once more. “I can’t do it, Pansy. I can’t do what the Dark Lord asked me, not without him, not without—without—”</p><p>“You just need time, Draco, to move on and find someone—”</p><p>“It will always be him,” Draco says in a low voice. </p><p>Pansy stares at him with sad, sad eyes. “Don’t do this, Draco.” </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Your family,” Pansy says desperately. “Your family will die. He will kill them, and you know it. Think of your mother, Draco. She would die if you did this. Please, come here. We’ll get through this together. Just come here. Please.”</p><p>Draco thinks of his mother, his darling mother, holding him tight one last time before he left on the Express, so rare in their conservative ways, and then he imagines the Dark Lord with his blood red eyes and snarling mouth pointing his wand at her and shouting—</p><p>No. He stumbles away from the edge, and Pansy rushes to him, taking him in her arms. Draco let’s the sobs heave his chest, tears sliding down his cheeks, soaking her cloak. Pansy strokes his back comfortingly. </p><p>“Nothing lasts forever, Draco,” she says quietly. “Not even love.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Dumbledore calls him to his office, though he can’t imagine what for anymore. More memories? Harry knows more than he’d ever like about Tom Riddle. More detentions? Snape already gave him enough to last the rest of the year. He’s banned from Quidditch, too. But none of that matters as much as Draco, and the certainty that he will never see him the same way again. That it’s over.</p><p>They will never kiss each other, never hold each other through the night, never say each other’s names quietly, whispered, like a secret but even more like a promise. Harry has damaged them beyond reconciliation and he will never forgive himself. </p><p>He relies on Ginny more than he would ever admit. She helps him forget...but only for stolen moments that are all too brief. Afterwards, reality rushes back and hits him like a freight train, so fast that his life flashes before his eyes except it’s not his life but every memory he has of Draco.</p><p>Ron and Hermione are thrilled, of course, that they finally started officially dating. The whole school is abuzz with rumors of their new relationship, much to the dismay of Harry and the delight of Ginny.</p><p>“Did you know,” Ginny had said the other day, smirking, “that the entire Fourth Year thinks I’m a top and you’re a bottom?”</p><p>Harry loves her for trying, for trying to heal him when he knows he never will, for loving him even when he will never love anyone like he loves Draco again, for shining a light when all he can see is darkness.</p><p>He doesn’t like to think of what he would have done if Ginny wasn’t there to hold him at night, to kiss him with her sweet lips and melt away the nightmares.</p><p>Dumbledore has been absent from his life—physically, that is—for the last several weeks or so. Harry wonders what he’s been up to. Secret missions? Order of the Phoenix meetings? He supposes he'll find out soon enough. </p><p>Harry approaches the stairwell to the Headmaster’s office, and says the password before entering. His heart beats ever so faster as it always does before speaking with his father. </p><p>When he knocks on the door, he hears Dumbledore say, “Come in.”</p><p>“You asked to see me?” Harry walks inside the room hesitantly. Dumbledore is sitting in his chair behind his desk, fiddling with something small and which gleams in the flickering candlelight. It looks like a ring. </p><p>“Yes, Harry,” he says in his familiar gravelly voice. He peers at Harry over his spectacles. “Are you quite alright?”</p><p>“I suppose,” Harry says awkwardly, wondering if Dumbledore hadn’t heard about his incident with Draco. It’d be strange, but not surprising. </p><p>“Anything on your mind?”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>Dumbledore waits, then nods. “Right then. I called you here to go on a mission with me. A very dark, dangerous mission, no doubt about it, and I would spare you if I could. As it is, I cannot do this alone, and there is no other person in this world that I trust as much as you.”</p><p>He says all this so casually and yet so honestly that the meaning registers a moment after Harry hears the words. When he realizes that this is the moment he’s always been waiting for, his chest expands and threatens to burst with excitement—but then he remembers Draco and his task and his cheeks burn in shame.</p><p>“Sir,” Harry says, before he can stop himself.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Harry pauses. If he tells Dumbledore now, Draco’s plans would be ruined, and the Dark Lord would kill him if the Ministry didn't lock him up in Azkaban first. But if he doesn’t tell Dumbledore, then…</p><p>Then he’s just as guilty of murdering his father as Draco will be. </p><p>“If someone you love,” Harry says, blushing at the raised brow he receives, “plans to...hurt someone else you love, and you can’t say anything because either way someone gets hurt, what do you do?”</p><p>Dumbledore doesn't look surprised. After a moment’s silence, he says seriously, “I loved someone, Harry, once. Very much. But he was on a different path than mine. I tried to love him and also love my family, but in the end I lost both.”</p><p>The meaning is clear. </p><p>Regardless, Harry asks, “What if I don’t want to choose?”</p><p>Dumbledore regards him without saying another word. <em> Then you will lose them both.  </em></p><p>Harry turns around, his shoulders tense, blinking away tears. The worst part is that he doesn’t feel conflicted. He doesn’t have a doubt what he is going to do. He just feels ashamed that he already knows. </p><p>He has already chosen. </p><p>After composing himself, he faces his father with Fate’s hand on his shoulder, and says with dooming finality, “Tell me about the mission.”</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>She always imagined funerals to have music, the somber violin wailing on the wind as the camera pans across the attendants, faces streaked with slow-falling tears, one woman silently sobbing in the front pew, before focusing on the open casket, a pale face with eyelids closed, dressed and groomed for an eternal sleep. </p><p>But this funeral is nothing like that. </p><p>Ginny stands beside Harry right in front of the white marble grave fashioned inside the earth. He has her hand in a death grip. She can hear people crying, sniffling, murmuring. No one really says a word, but it’s definitely not quiet. The music of mourning sounds a lot more pathetic than she had expected.</p><p>Hermione leans sadly against Ron’s shoulder, her eyes rimmed red. There are thousands of witches and wizards from all over the world gathered on the shore of the lake, all in somber black cloaks and with grim faces. </p><p>She doesn’t like to look at Harry’s face. He’s often pale for one moment, then flushed hot as if he’s caught a fever the next. His eyes are empty, void of emotion, like looking down a dark, dark tunnel. </p><p>He hasn't talked about it yet, though that’s hardly unusual. Harry has always kept his true feelings close to his chest. But Ginny wishes that he would confide in her more, at least about something.</p><p>Draco Malfoy is glaringly absent from the funeral. Supposedly he went back to You Know Who, Snape too, though it’s only a rumor. Ginny doesn’t really care. She only cares about Harry. </p><p>Soon the funeral comes to a close. The large stone slab is levitated to cover Dumbledore’s face. People begin to pay their respects and leave. Harry remains, so Ginny does too. </p><p>When it’s only them, and even Hermione and Ron say their goodbyes while casting worried glances towards Harry, Ginny decides to break the silence. “I think it’s time to say goodbye.”</p><p>Harry doesn’t respond.</p><p>“Harry—”</p><p>“I know,” he says quietly. “Ginny.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I don’t know if we should stay together.”</p><p>Ginny sighs. “We talked about this.”</p><p>“It’s my fault,” Harry says darkly. “It’s my fault he’s dead. It’s not safe for you to be around me.” He looks at her for the first time and his eyes are storming, the green flash of a thundercloud. “There’s a war coming, Ginny.”</p><p>Ginny squares her shoulders, facing him. “If there’s a war, then there’s no one I’d rather be fighting beside than you.”</p><p>“You can die,” he protests.</p><p>“So can you.” Ginny takes his face between her hands. “We’re in this together. Promise me, Harry. Promise me you won’t do this alone.”</p><p>Harry cuts an unreadable glance to his father’s grave. “What if I don’t have a choice? What if I have to do it alone?”</p><p>Ginny shakes her head. “We always have a choice.”</p><p>If she knew then what she knows now, ten years later and in love with someone so very different, wondering if she will always be the one putting back together the broken pieces of a boy that only ever wanted his father to love him, only ever wanted to be normal and fall in love and live his life like a brilliant, bright star streaking across the sky, would she be so quick to hold out her arms, to love him so willingly and openly? </p><p>But Ginny supposes that’s the terrible beauty of the past—she’ll never know.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. January 2006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ginny knocks on the door and it’s promptly opened. Draco Malfoy stands on the other side of the threshold, looking at her wearily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy,” Ginny greets politely, inclining her head. “Thank you for agreeing to meet. Is Parkinson home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco shakes his head. “She would not approve of this visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny follows him inside silently. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected Draco to agree to her asking to talk. Although, she had sounded quite desperate, and had specified that Harry knew nothing about it, which could all be incentives for him to say yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...what did you want to speak with me about?” Draco asks quietly, sitting down on the couch, and gesturing for Ginny to sit beside him. In that moment it hits her how twisted her life has become, how backwards the world has turned, as she sits beside the only other person on this earth that understands how she feels, who is a Death Eater but also just a boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny sighs. “I came to ask for help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worry briefly flashes across Draco’s face. “Harry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she says, then hesitates, unsure how to approach such a sensitive subject. “I knew about you and Harry, right from the beginning, but I never told a soul. I always thought it was doomed from the start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you were right,” Draco mutters bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I was wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looks at her, startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continues, “We both know Harry better than anyone. I thought I was the only one who could see him until I saw you looking at him one day. I realized you saw it too. You saw the darkness and didn’t look away. Not just anyone can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco frowns. “Only someone as dark as him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or perhaps only someone who loves him enough,” Ginny says, wiping the frown off his face and leaving a kind of subtle respect. “You will never find someone like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will never love anyone like you love him, I can promise you that.” Ginny glances down at her engagement ring. “You can move on and fall in love again, but that kind of love will always stay with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he says again, his voice barely a whisper, eyes riveted on Ginny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not telling you to stay with him,” she says. “That’s up to you. Merlin knows I tried, but in the end I needed something else. I’m just saying that Harry might be the Savior but he’s the one who really needs saving. And he’s going to search for that other world forever unless he realizes it’s been here all along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco becomes alert, sensing where she’s going with this. Her heart beats fast, every pulse strained with sorrow and worry that she pushes away with all her might. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath. “He’s not at his apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s face goes white. Ginny sighs. “Where is he?” he asks tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I’m here,” she says. “You’re the only person who would know where to find him. You’re the only one who can save him. Not me, not Hermione, not Ron. You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at her with wide eyes full of terror. She stays silent, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when she thinks this was all for naught, Draco breathes in sharply, and his face pales even more. He stands up and Ginny does too, her hands shaking. Unwillingly, her chest fills with hope, and she looks to Draco with what must be a desperate plea, because he nods quietly, his face grim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know where he is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The harsh wind of winter billows against his cloak, tossing his curls across his face. Harry keeps his hands in his pockets, tensed up and bracing the cold. A spray of icy lake water flies with the wind as he stands on its shore. His face has already gone numb, and he wonders how much longer he can last without a heating charm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t visited his father’s grave since the funeral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white marble hides under a layer of snow. Harry murmurs a spell and it melts away, revealing the silver threaded stone, cut sharp into rectangular slabs. No epitaph, no inscription. Just a smooth face of nothingness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if Albus can see him now, but Harry doubts it. After death always seemed to him shrouded in mist, the white light at the end of a tunnel, where spirits can forget the troubles of the living and find real peace in ignorance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he could speak with him once more, would his father forgive him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry squeezes his eyes shut, wishing to disappear, to go to that place where he could rest and leave behind a world of pain. But when he opens his eyes, the white winter-land glares back at him under the bright, distant sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Albus wouldn’t forgive him, then could Harry forgive himself? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like looking at this stone slab, this meaningless tomb, so somber and indifferent to his struggles. Harry wants his father’s eyes peering at him over the rim of his spectacles, that knowing twinkle in his eyes, and that soft-spoken inquiry after his thoughts despite Harry’s insistence of keeping them to himself. It was the same with his real parents at the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow. The small headstones, the names so familiar and yet so foreign, like brushing up against a world that could have been yours but will forever be just out of reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last glance at his father’s final resting place, Harry walks further down the shore, away from the castle. Despite what everyone might tell you, Albus is not the only person buried on the grounds of Hogwarts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon he reaches his destination; a small clearing in the brush close to the edge of the water. A stone a little bigger than his fist has been placed on a mound of dirt now overgrown with debris from the surrounding woodland. Inscribed on the stone is only a name: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lucy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t remember much of burying his mother—for that’s what she was, even when he didn’t know it—the courageous House Elf that fought and died during the Battle of Hogwarts. She had no momentous moment, no last stand, at least none that Harry saw or heard of later. No, she was cut down with the Killing Curse, like so many of the fallen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t remember much of the battle's aftermath, but he remembers his hands bleeding as they dug through the dirt, all night long, until he made a deep enough hole to bury her in. It was so unceremonious, so quiet and lonely. No one to mourn her except him, no one to remember her except him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there’s someone he would kill to bring back, it would be Lucy. Her firm, nurturing hands, her gentle, warm gaze, such a constant caring presence in his life that it was only when she died that he realized how lost he was without her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would she forgive him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he already knows she would. In her eyes, he was an angel, and with her gone, he lost the best version of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His knees give out, and he hunches over her grave, eyes and throat burning with uncried tears. The battle might have ended, but the war never stops destroying. He stays like that for what feels like an eternity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he can breathe a little, and his chest stops constricting painfully, Harry stands up, ignoring a wave of dizziness that passes over him. His footsteps take him back to the castle automatically, snow crunching beneath his boots and the wind stinging his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s like falling into a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up and up and up the steps, the walls of the castle, stone and silent, watching him. He hears distant laughter of children, and he has to pause and place a hand on the wall, nostalgia hitting him like a head rush. Despite feeling faint, Harry continues, his footsteps echoing ominously like a death march. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally he reaches the Astronomy Tower. He walks over to the edge, like he always does. The clock bell rings out, chiming loudly like a warning, and he’s reminded of a poem he used to like, a mirror to his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Forlorn! the very word is like a bell</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To toll me back from thee to my sole self!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks over the edge, down the sheer drop of the Tower and below, to the grassy clearing so dark on this dreary winter’s evening it looks almost black, an abyss to another world. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders, briefly, what he will leave behind, whether they will bury him beside his father or with his parents in Godric’s Hollow. Or perhaps they won’t bury him at all. Maybe they will burn him like the Greeks did, light a pyre and weep as the flames climb higher and higher until they reach the stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Past the near meadows, over the still stream,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks out across the valley, the beautiful green hills hugging the vast lake, almost black in the weak winter light, teeming with dangers and treasures unknown. The beloved portrait framing a life tainted with blood and death, gore and pain. He remembers wanting to teach here, once, but that feels more like a dream than this does.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the next valley-glades:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be like falling asleep, then waking up right before the dream fades away. He’d finally see the world of peace and happiness instead of just glimpsing it; a full smile instead of the corner of a mouth. Forgiveness would just be another word he forgets, and Draco another love lost to the white light from neither sun nor moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was it a vision, or a waking dream?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry leans back, closing his eyes, his heels slipping past the edge, and then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand grips his arm, and the dream ends. His eyes fly open and he is awake, his life in the hands of the only person he will ever see, a Dark Mark on the forearm like a saving grace, if grace was the darkness in a twin soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare,” Draco says, his eyes steely grey, glaring furiously at Harry, who can’t say a word. He hauls Harry back up and Harry lets him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco catches him in his arms, and he holds Harry tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I chose my family that day,” Draco says vehemently, “but today I choose you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry can’t hold it in anymore. He sinks into Draco’s warmth and his shoulders shake and all he knows in this moment is that he’s never letting go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps saying the same thing over and over again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Draco murmurs, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here..." Kissing his cheeks, kissing his lips, his face, fingers threaded through his dark curls, and it’s just the two of them again, like no time has passed at all, light and dark crashing into each other, pulled together like magnets, like Fate spinning their threads homeward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back and takes Draco’s face between his hands, his features ever so pale and lovely and delicate, the carved beauty that haunts his dreams at night. “I choose you.” Then he kisses Draco fiercely and they stay like that for a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if a roaming student happened to look up at the Astronomy Tower right then, well, they would see two broken boys choosing to forgive, a dream finally becoming a reality, and the end of a beautifully flawed love story that was just beginning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco looks into the cauldron, trying to make out what stage he left the potion in. He sighs at the grey-green mixture that bubbles ominously. “I think it’s ruined.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raises an eyebrow beside him. They haven’t stopped holding hands since they Apparated from the Hogwarts’ Astronomy Tower to Harry’s apartment. Draco tries not to think about it, instead focusing on one concrete moment at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Harry says, and he smiles. “I wasn’t planning on taking it anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stares at him in shock. “Harry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I thought that’s what you wanted,” Harry says, but he’s still smiling and now it looks more like a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have been sent to Azkaban! And for nothing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t have gotten caught. The Ministry lets me do whatever I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you ask me to make it then?” Draco asks, still in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted an excuse to see you.” He shrugs. “Besides, I already had some.” He slips a hand into his coat and takes out a small vial filled with a silvery blue liquid that looks like wisps of memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s mouth falls open. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>that all this time? I can’t believe it.” He continues staring at the vial and then back at Harry’s smug smile. “How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had been planning to take it for a while now, though more seriously only a few years back when I was at my lowest point. Didn’t take much to find an underground potioneer to sell Harry Potter a vial. My name gave them protection and a little renown. It was only when I saw you at the charity ball that I knew I could never do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Draco asks, breathless, looking into Harry’s eyes that have never looked so bright and green before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because sometimes the happiest memories are also the most painful. I was scared the potion would take away every moment I had with you just because it hurt to love you, just because every time I looked at you I was reminded of something I couldn’t have. I don’t regret anything that happened between us.” He squeezes Draco’s hand, his eyes earnest. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco mutters a curse under his breath. “When did you get so eloquent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ignores this. “It might take some time, but I’m ready to start with forgiveness. I want to move on and to love you and be with you and have you in all the ways that matter with everyone watching. In fact, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>everyone watching because then they can see what it means to love someone wholly and completely, not despite their flaws but because of them. I want all of you if you’ll have me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stands there speechless. Just when he thought he had Harry figured out, he surprises Draco again. He wants to make a similar speech proclaiming his love, that he has always seen Harry for who he is, every dark part of his soul and every sin he’s ever committed, and loved him all and loved him more than he thought possible. He wants to kiss those lips and say his name over and over until Harry trusts him again, until they both find each other's souls in the dark, until they don’t need to say anything ever again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Draco takes Harry’s hand and kisses the knuckles softly. “It’s always you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry let’s the vial drop and crash to the floor, pulling Draco close. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Epilogue - September 2007</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco waits, hidden, behind the stone wall of the church. Harry is late, and Draco has a terrible vision of the wedding being delayed for his sake. He shudders. It’s been a few weeks now since he’s seen him, and his stomach does a little flip at the prospect of a proper kiss instead of a firecall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly a loud crack bursts in the air and Harry appears beside him, grinning. He’s wearing a sleek black suit, the same color as his hair, which falls in such long, thick curls that they could be tied back. His skin still has the dark glow of a summer on the shores of Portugal, which is exactly where they spent the entire month of August before Harry started teaching at Hogwarts as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t know he had a weakness for attractive men lecturing until he imagined Harry in front of a classroom, hands folded, voice steady, and that subtle smile on his face when he knows something that no one else does...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re late,” Draco says sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raises a brow. “I haven’t seen you for exactly two weeks and one day and that’s all you can say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wedding is going to start any moment.” Draco let’s the smile escape that has been threatening to burst across his face since the second Harry Apparated by his side. “But I guess we can spare a few—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Harry’s kissing him, pushing him up against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his mouth gently undoes every worry and anxiety like pulling a thread and unraveling a tight knot in his stomach. Draco allows himself to indulge in the kiss, in Harry’s lean hips lined up with his, in that sweet mouth so very much like a drug that he can never quit, doesn’t want to quit, so powerful his knees give out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pulls away, breathing hard. He looks at Draco dangerously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t skip the wedding,” Draco says, and Harry groans. “Harry…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, and nods in reluctant agreement. “We can’t skip the wedding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco takes Harry’s hand and kisses the knuckles, blushing at the heated look Harry gives him. “We should go inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his hand tighter, Harry leads them from Draco’s hiding spot and together they walk towards the entrance of the crumbling stone church. A flash blinds Draco momentarily, before several flashes burst simultaneously afterwards, and Harry smirks at the cameras turned their way, snapping shots incessantly, and then pulls up short and kisses Draco, long and sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco flushes afterwards. “You are so dramatic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles slyly as they continue up the steps and into the church. “Just don’t want people to forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk inside, and Draco’s heart stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceiling of the church has been charmed to reveal the night sky with all its stars gleaming, and the full moon shining bright and large behind the altar. He looks down and sees that they spelled the floor into a bed of soft grass, with flower petals strewn across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the pews are crammed with people. Draco’s face heats up when everyone turns to look at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco! Harry!” Hermione calls to them from the front pew, smiling and frantically waving. She’s wearing a midnight blue dress, much like the one she wore to the Yule Ball all those years ago. It’s a wonder Draco still remembers, but she did look as lovely as she does now. He returns the smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hurriedly walk down the aisle to meet her, squeezing in the small space she and Ron managed to save for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry we’re late,” Draco says in a hushed voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione brushes it off. “Nonsense. It hasn’t even started yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They adjust in their seats, trying to get better situated. Harry places a comforting hand on his thigh, but it only makes him blush more furiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few scant moments later and the sound of a gentle piano playing silences the humming crowd. Draco turns his head along with everybody else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna Lovegood appears underneath the arched doorway on Mr. Lovegood’s arm, a wreath of flowers on her head, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She wears a flowy, pale pink dress that billows around her legs as she walks down the aisle, a small smile on her face as she looks around at everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco wonders momentarily if they have put up some sort of spell to make everything so enchanting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Mr. Lovegood kisses Luna’s cheek and leaves her beneath the makeshift arch made of vines and roses, the piano begins the song again, and the crowd falls silent once more. Then Ginny Weasley, hand in hand between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, walks down the aisle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wears a Moroccan blue silk dress that hugs her waist and ends just short of her ankles. Her feet are bare, and they sink into the soft grass. Draco thinks she looks stunning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luna and Ginny gaze at each other with such love and devotion that Draco almost looks away, wondering how he ever thought himself deserving of witnessing such a rare moment of beauty. Harry takes his hand. Draco looks at him, and is surprised to see the tear that slowly falls down his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceremonial official greets the assembly, then begins the reading of the vows. Draco tries to listen to the words but his mind has gone elsewhere, imagining a different wedding involving two very different people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, to be my wife…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry kisses his knuckles lightly, as if like Draco a wave of memories crashes over him and he’s drowning in the past, sinking beneath the seas of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...to have and to hold from this day forward…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin, how they held each other close when the world was trying to tear them apart. All those nights, all those stolen moments in the dark, in the dead of night, the only bright light to shield a world of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Death Eater and a Savior, side by side, hand in hand, the light and the dark, burning like twin flames that only grow stronger together, a fire that ignites both love and hate, both victory and defeat, both end and beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...in sickness and in health, to love and cherish…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recalls that night when Harry crept into his bed and said the words without doubt, without hesitation, his green eyes dark and teeming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is dangerous. I love you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco grips Harry’s hand tighter, remembering his words on the Astronomy Tower. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I choose you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Always.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later in the night, Harry pulls Draco towards him, his light, his love, his savior. The small room behind Draco’s potions shop is almost pitch black without a candle. He can barely make out pale eyebrows, white cheeks, the delicate curve of a neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to go back,” Draco whispers against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry hugs him tighter. “McGonagall will give me detention if I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Draco’s smile on his skin. “So she’s as strict as we thought?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” Harry says, “she calls my name while passing in the halls and I feel like a school boy about to be reprimanded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get sad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling of walking the halls of a home and a graveyard, of a safe haven and his place of death. “Teaching there reminds me of the good just as much as the bad. Some days one more than the other. I made the right choice, though. My only regret is not seeing you every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could live at Hogwarts.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talked about this, love. You have your potions. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you gave up on this just because of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco grumbles something incoherent that sounds like </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s not fair. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Harry says, ignoring him, “I visited the kitchens once. I wanted to see if it would look the same as when we used it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looked exactly the same.” Harry sighs. “It was hard at first, because Lucy wasn’t there. But then I met some Elves and I learned that they are employed now, and that McGonagall finds squibs and other witches and wizards who struggle to find employment after the war and gives them a job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea,” Draco says, wonder in his voice. He kisses Harry's chest, right on the breastbone. “Do people act different around you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m the Chosen One?” Harry asks playfully, receiving a firm smack on his arm. He laughs, snuggling closer to Draco. “Yes, yes, they do. Of course they do. But after the first week it subsided. Especially when I started assigning two feet of parchment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two feet?” Draco asks, and Harry can almost hear his smirk. “I bet they loathe you now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps.” He kisses the top of Draco’s head, his wispy locks still as soft and silky against his skin as the first time he touched them. Then, “I think we should get married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco goes still, and only speaks after a few moments of intense silence. “Is that a proposal, Potter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose so.” Harry wonders if Draco hears how loud his heart is beating. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yes,” Draco says, simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not too soon?” Harry asks hesitatingly. “After everything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco places a hand on his cheek, and Harry imagines his grey eyes storming. “It’s always been you, Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bell tolls somewhere in the distance, like a premonition, like the beat of a heart, like the end of a dream right before you open your eyes and one world fades and another dawns before you. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses Draco. “I choose you.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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